UC-NRLF 


SB    3MD    fi7h 


LIBRARY 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA, 


Class 


\ 


THE    TWO     PATHS. 


THE    TWO     PATHS 


BEING 

LECTURES     ON     ART 


AND   ITS  APPLICATION   TO 


DECORATION    AND    MANUFACTURE 
DELIVERED    IN    1858-9 


BY 

JOHN    RUSKIN,    LL.D. 

HONORARY  STUDENT   OF  CHRIST   CHURCH,   AND   HONORARY   FELLOW 
OF   CORPUS  CHRISTI   COLLEGE,   OXFORD 


AN  INTRODUCTION  BY  CHARGES  ELIOT  NORTON 


BKANTWOOD    EDITION 


NEW  YORK  : 

MAYNARD,    MERRILL,   &   Co.,   PUBLISHERS, 

43,  45  &  47  EAST  TENTH  ST. 

1893. 


SPECIAL    ANNOUNCEMENT 

MR.  GEORGE  ALLEN  begs  to  announce  that  Ruskin's  Works 
will  hereafter  be  published  in  America  by  MESSRS.  CHARLES 
E.  MERRILL  &  Co.,  of  New  York,  who  will  issue  the  only 
authorized  editions. 


Copyright  1890 
CHARLES  E.    MERRILL  &  Co. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Lectures  which  are  brought  together 
in  this  volume  were  delivered,  at  dif- 
ferent places,  before  audiences  widely  different 
in   character,   in    the   years    1857,    1858,   and 
1859.      They   were    published    in    the   latter 
year.      A  common  thread  of  doctrine  unites 
them,  which  is  suggested  by  the  title  chosen 
for    the   volume, — the    responsibility    of    the 
student  "for  choice,  decisive   and    conclusive, 
between  two  modes  of  study,   which    involve 
ultimately  the  development,   or  deadening,  of 
every  power  he  possesses."      The    nature  of 
this    choice    is    indicated    in     the    following 
words:    "Wherever   art    is    practised    for    its 
own  sake,  and    the  delight   of  the    workman 


Vi  INTRODUCTION. 

is  in  what  he  does  or  produces,  instead  of  in 
what  he  interprets  or  exhibits, — there  art 
has  an  influence  of  the  most  fatal  kind  on 
brain  and  heart,  and  it  issues,  if  long  so 
pursued,  in  the  destruction  both  of  intellectual 
bower  and  moral  principle ;  whereas  art,  de- 
voted to  the  clear  statement  and  record  of 
the  facts  of  the  universe,  is  always  helpful 
and  beneficent"  (p.  16). 

Important  as  the  statement  is,  and  vigorous 
as  is  Mr.  Ruskin's  presentation,  under  various 
aspects,  of  the  truth  contained  in  it,  it  seems 
to  me  to  require,  for  its  full  understanding 
and  effect,  a  clearer  definition  of  the  nature 
of  the  Fine  Arts  than  is  anywhere  given  in 
the  course  of  these  Lectures.  On  p.  57 
Mr.  Ruskin  says :  "  Fine  Art  is  that  in  which 
the  hand,  the  head,  and  the  heart  of  man  go 
together  ; "  and,  on  p.  204,  he  refers  to  these 
words  as  a  "definition  of  Fine  Art."  They 
seem  to  me  rather  an  assertion  concerning 


INTRODUCTION.  Vll 

Fine  Art  than  a  definition  of  it.  The  basis 
of  a  comprehensive  definition  lies  in  the  fact 
that  all  the  Fine  Arts  are  modes  of  expres- 
sion of  the  human  mind  ;  and  resting  upon 
this,  they  may,  perhaps,  be  defined,  with 
approximate  truth,  as,  The  modes  in  which 
mankind  give  the  best  expression  to  their 
thoughts,  sentiments,  and  emotions.  Their 
aim  is  always  toward  an  ideal  perfection  of 
expression.  Their  works  are  intended  to 
render  the  conception  of  the  artist  in  the 
best  manner  possible  to  him.  Hence,  in  the 
Fine  Arts  of  design,  the  training  of  the  hand 
to  execute  the  conception  is  no  less  essential 
than  the  discipline  of  the  soul  that  its  con- 
ceptions may  be  noble  and  worthy  of  fine 
execution.  Thus  it  is  that,  in  the  production 
of  their  works,  "  the  hand,  the  head,  and  the 
heart  must  go  together  ; "  and  thus,  in  aiming 
at  perfection  of  expression  of  that  which  is 
worth  expressing,  their  works  become  the 


Vlll  INTRODUCTION. 

embodiments  of  beauty  ;  for,  as  has  been  well 
said,  the  beautiful  is  the  good  made  perfect. 

The  lack  of  a  clear  definition  of  the  Fine 
Arts  is,  I  believe,  the  source  of  occasional 
passages  of  vague  or  imperfect  thought,  and 
of  half-truths  which  may  be  met  with  in  this 
little  volume.  But  no  reader  of  intelligence 
can  fail  to  derive  instruction  and  enjoyment 
from  its  pages. 

"  The  law,"  says  Mr.  Ruskin,  "  which  it  has 
been  my  effort  chiefly  to  illustrate,  is  the 
dependence  of  all  noble  design  in  any  kind 
on  the  sculpture  or  painting  of  Organic 
Form."  His  illustration  of  this  law  is  ample 
and  effective  ;  but  the  reader  will  find  many 
other  truths  illustrated  in  these  pages,  and 
enforced  with  equal  power.  The  book  forms 
an  admirable,  though  discursive  and  incom- 
plete, treatise  on  the  principles  of  Design. 

The  growth  of  interest  in  the  Fine  Arts, 
and  of  attention  to  them,  during  the  past 


INTRODUCTION.  ix 

twenty  or  thirty  years,  has  been  largely  due, 
in  England  and  America,  to  the  influence 
of  Mr.  Ruskin's  writings.  The  interest  is, 
indeed,  often  unintelligent,  and  the  attention 
is  often  a  form  of  mere  seeking  for  trivial 
amusement.  But  many  ideas  concerning  the 
arts  which  were  new  thirty  years  ago,  or  at 
least  unfamiliar,  have  become  the  common 
property  of  the  critics,  and  a  part  of  the 
common  culture  of  all  well-informed  persons. 
This  change  must  be  taken  into  account  by 
those  who  now  read  this  volume  for  the  first 
time.  They  must  remember  that  doctrines 
which  may  now  seem  trite  were  fresh  when 
it  was  written  ;  that  Mr.  Ruskin's  work  was 
the  original  source  of  opinions  now  widely 
diffused,  and  more  or  less  generally  accepted  ; 
and  still  more  should  they  bear  in  mind  that, 
were  he  writing  on  these  topics  to-day,  he 
would  express  himself  upon  many  of  them 
differently  from  what  he  did  forty  years  ago. 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

It  is  interesting  to  note  the  characteristic 
intensity  of  the  moral  sentiment  which  is  an 
essential  element  in  these  addresses.  The 
practice  of  the  Fine  Arts  he  regards  as  a 
form  of  duty ;  their  highest  uses  are  their 
social  and  moral  uses  ;  it  is  in  their  relation 
to  human  welfare  that  their  real  value  and 
importance  consist.  Mr.  Ruskin's  thoughts 
were  already  turned  toward  the  deepest  ques- 
tions of  social  order  and  duty,  and  the  misery 
of  man  was  already  darkening  to  him  the 
brightness  of  Nature  and  the  beauties  of 
Art. 

C.  E.  N. 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASSACHUSETTS, 
October  i8co. 


PREFACE 

TO  THE   RE-ISSUE   OF    1878. 


HERE  is  another  of  my  books  republished 
at  the  request  of  my  earnest  and  kind 
friend,  Mr.  Henry  Willett;  a  statement  es- 
pecially due  to  him,  because,  in  glancing  over 
the  sheets  as  re-issued,  I  find  them  full  of 
useful  things  which  I  did  not  know  I  had  said, 
and  should  probably  have  wasted  much  time 
in  saying  again;  and  I  am  therefore  heartily 
glad  that  these  four  lectures  are  again  made 
generally  readable. 

I  have  no  time  nor  sight  now,  however,  for 
the  revision  of  old  plates :  what  my  eyes  can 
do,  must  be  fresh  work :  and  besides,  I  own 
to  a  very  enjoyable  pride  in  making  the  first 
editions  of  my  books  valuable  to  their  pos- 
sessors, who  found  out,  before  other  people, 
that  these  writings  and  drawings  really  were 


Xll  PREFACE. 

good  for  something.  I  have  retained  there- 
fore in  this  edition  only  the  woodcuts  neces- 
sary for  the  explanation  of  the  text :  and  the 
two  lovely  engravings  by  Messrs.  Cuff  and 
Armytage  will,  I  hope,  render  the  old  volume 
more  or  less  classical  among  collectors.  They 
were  merely  its  ornaments,  and  the  few  refer- 
ences to  them  are  withdrawn  from  the  present 
edition  without  the  slightest  harm  to  its  use- 
fulness. 

In  other  respects,  I  doubt  not  my  publisher's 
care  has  made  it,  what  it  professes  to  be,  an 
absolute  reprint  of  the  former  text. 

BRANTWOOD, 

2ist  January -,  1878. 


PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION 
(1859). 


r  I  ^HE  following  addresses,  though  spoken 
at  different  times,  are  intentionally  con- 
nected in  subject ;  their  aim  being  to  set  one 
or  two  main  principles  of  art  in  simple  light 
before  the  general  student,  and  to  indicate  their 
practical  bearing  on  modern  design.  The  law 
which  it  has  been  my  effort  chiefly  to  illustrate 
is  the  dependence  of  all  noble  design,  in  any  kind, 
on  the  sculpture  or  painting  of  Organic  Form. 

This  is  the  vital  law;  lying  at  the  root  of 
all  that  I  have  ever  tried  to  teach  respecting 
architecture  or  any  other  art.  It  is  also  the 
law  most  generally  disallowed. 

I  believe  this  must  be  so  in  every  subject. 
We  are  all  of  us  willing  enough  to  accept 
dead  truths  or  blunt  ones,  which  can  be  fitted 
harmlessly  into  spare  niches,  or  shrouded  and 


XIV  PREFACE. 

coffined  at  once  out  of  the  way,  we  holding  com- 
placently the  cemetery  keys,  and  supposing  we 
have  learned  something.  But  a  sapling  truth, 
with  earth  at  its  root  and  blossom  on  its 
branches;  or  a  trenchant  truth,  that  can  cut 
its  way  through  bars  and  sods,  most  men,  it 
seems  to  me,  dislike  the  sight  or  entertainment 
of,  if  by  any  means  such  guest  or  vision  may 
be  avoided.  And,  indeed,  this  is  no  wonder; 
for  one  such  truth,  thoroughly  accepted,  con- 
nects itself  strangely  with  others,  and  there 
is  no  saying  what  it  may  lead  us  to. 

And  thus  the  gist  of  what  I  have  tried  to 
teach  about  architecture  has  been  throughout 
denied  by  my  architect  readers,  even  when  they 
thought  what  I  said  suggestive  in  other  par- 
ticulars. "Anything  but  that.  Study  Italian 
Gothics  ? — perhaps  it  would  be  as  well ;  build 
with  pointed  arches  ? — there  is  no  objection ; 
use  solid  stone  and  well-burnt  brick  ? — by  all 
means;  but — learn  to  carve  or  paint  organic 
form  ourselves !  How  can  such  a  thing  be 
asked  ?  We  are  above  all  that.  The  carvers 
and  painters  are  our  servants — quite  subor- 
dinate people.  They  ought  to  be  glad  if  we 
leave  room  for  them." 


PREFACE.  XV 

Well,  on  that  it  all  turns.  For  those  who 
will  not  learn  to  carve  or  paint,  and  think 
themselves  greater  men  because  they  cannot, 
it  is  wholly  wasted  time  to  read  any  words  of 
mine;  in  the  truest  and  sternest  sense  they 
can  read  no  words  of  mine ;  for  the  most 
familiar  I  can  use — "  form,"  "  proportion," 
" beauty,"  "curvature,"  " colour," — are  used 
in  a  sense  which  by  no  effort  I  can  com- 
municate to  such  readers;  and  in  no  building 
that  I  praise  is  the  thing  that  I  praise  it  for, 
visible  to  them. 

And  it  is  the  more  necessary  for  me  to  state 
this  fully,  because  so-called  Gothic  or  Roman- 
esque buildings  are  now  rising  every  day 
around  us,  which  might  be  supposed  by  the 
public  more  or  less  to  embody  the  principles 
of  those  styles,  but  which  embody  not  one  of 
them,  nor  any  shadow  or  fragment  of  them ; 
but  merely  serve  to  caricature  the  noble  build- 
ings of  past  ages,  and  to  bring  their  form  into 
dishonour  by  leaving  out  their  soul. 

The  following  addresses  are  therefore  ar- 
ranged, as  I  have  just  stated,  to  put  this  great 
law,  and  one  or  two  collateral  ones,  in  less  mis- 
takable  light,  securing,  even  in  this  irregular 


XVI  PREFACE. 

form,  at  least  clearness  of  assertion.  For  the 
rest,  the  question  at  issue  is  not  one  to  be 
decided  b}  argument,  but  by  experiment, 
which,  if  the  reader  is  disinclined  to  make, 
all  demonstration  must  be  useless  to  him. 

The  lectures  are  for  the  most  part  printed 
as  they  were  read,  mending  only  obscure  sen- 
tences here  and  there.  The  parts  which  were 
trusted  to  extempore  speaking  are  supplied  as 
well  as  I  can  remember  (only  with  an  addition 
here  and  there  of  things  I  forgot  to  say),  in 
the  words,  or  at  least  the  kind  of  words,  used 
at  the  time;  and  they  contain,  at  all  events, 
the  substance  of  what  I  said  more  accurately 
than  hurried  journal  reports.  I  must  beg  my 
readers  not  in  general  to  trust  to  such,  for 
even  in  fast  speaking  I  try  to  use  words  care- 
fully ;  and  any  alteration  of  expression  will 
sometimes  involve  a  great  alteration  in  mean- 
ing. A  little  while  ago  I  had  to  speak  of  an 
architectural  design,  and  called  it  "  elegant," 
meaning,  founded  on  good  and  well  "  elected  " 
models;  the  printed  report  gave  "excellent" 
design  (that  is  to  say,  design  excellingly  good), 
which  I  did  not  mean,  and  should,  even  in  the 
most  hurried  speaking,  never  have  said. 


PREFACE.  XV11 

The  illustrations  of  the  lecture  on  iron  were 
sketches  made  too  roughly  to  be  engraved, 
and  yet  of  too  elaborate  subjects  to  allow  of 
my  drawing  them  completely. 

I  hope  throughout  the  volume  the  student 
will  perceive  an  insistence  upon  one  main 
truth,  nor  lose  in  any  minor  direction  of  in- 
quiry the  sense  of  the  responsibility  which 
the  acceptance  of  that  truth  fastens  upon  him ; 
responsibility  for  choice,  decisive  and  con- 
clusive, between  two  modes  of  study,  which 
involve  ultimately  the  development,  or  dead- 
ening, of  every  power  he  possesses.  I  have 
tried  to  hold  that  choice  clearly  out  to  him, 
and  to  unveil  for  him  to  its  farthest  the  issue 
of  his  turning  to  the  right  hand  or  the  left. 
Guides  he  may  find  many,  and  aids  many ;  but 
all  these  will  be  in  vain  unless  he  has  first 
recognized  the  hour  and  the  point  of  life  when 
the  way  divides  itself,  one  way  leading  to  the 
Olive  mountains— one  to  the  vale  of  the  Salt 
Sea.  There  are  few  cross-roads,  that  I  know 
of,  from  one  to  the  other.  Let  him  pause  at 
the  parting  of  THE  Two  PATHS. 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

INTRODUCTION         .        .        .        .        .        .        •  v 

PREFACE  TO  THE  RE-ISSUE  OF  1878                                .     xi 
PREFACE  TO  THE  FIRST  EDITION xiii 

LECTURE   I. 

THE      DETERIORATIVE     POWER     OF      CONVENTIONAL      ART 

OVER    NATIONS I 

LECTURE  II. 

THE    UNITY   OF   ART  .......      54 

LECTURE  III. 

MODERN    MANUFACTURE   AND    DESIGN          .  .  .  .88 

LECTURE  IV. 

THE   INFLUENCE    OF   IMAGINATION    IN    ARCHITECTURE          .    134 

LECTURE   V.  N 

THE   WORK    OF    IRON    IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY  .     185 


APPENDICES 249 


THE   TWO    PATHS. 


LECTURE  I. 

THE   DETERIORATIVE   POWER   OF   CONVENTIONAL 
ART    OVER    NATIONS. 

AN   INAUGURAL  LECTURE, 

Delivered  at  the  Opening  Meeting  of  the  Architectural 
Museum ,  South  Kensington  Museum*  January  l^th, 
1858. 

I.  As  I  passed,  last  summer,  for  the  first  time, 
through  the  north  of  Scotland,  it  seemed  to 
me  that  there  was  a  peculiar  painfulness  in  its 
scenery,  caused  by  the  non-manifestation  of 

*  A  few  introductory  words,  in  which,  at  the  opening 
of  this  lecture,  I  thanked  the  Chairman  (Mr.  Cockerell), 
for  his  support  on  the  occasion,  and  asked  his  pardon  for 
any  hasty  expressions  in  my  writings,  which  might  have 
seemed  discourteous  towards  him,  or  other  architects 
whose  general  opinions  were  opposed  to  mine,  may  be 
found  by  those  who  care  for  preambles,  not  much  mis- 
reported,  in  the  Building  Chronicle;  with  such  comments 
as  the  genius  of  that  journal  was  likely  to  suggest  to  it. 

A 


2  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

the  powers  of  human  art.  I  had  never  tra- 
velled in,  nor  even  heard  or  conceived  of,  such 
a  country  before ;  nor,  though  I  had  passed 
much  of  my  life  amidst  mountain  scenery  in 
the  south,  was  I  before  aware  how  much  of 
its  charm  depended  on  the  little  gracefulnesses 
and  tendernesses  of  human  work,  which  are 
mingled  with  the  beauty  of  the  Alps,  or  spared 
by  their  desolation.  It  is  true  that  the  art 
which  carves  and  colours  the  front  of  a  Swiss 
cottage  is  not  of  any  very  exalted  kind ;  yet  it 
testifies  to  the  completeness  and  the  delicacy 
of  the  faculties  of  the  mountaineer:  it  is  true 
that  the  remnants  of  tower  and  battlement, 
which  afford  footing  to  the  wild  vine  on  the 
Alpine  promontory,  form  but  a  small  part  of 
the  great  serration  of  its  rocks;  and  yet  it 
is  just  that  fragment  of  their  broken  outline 
which  gives  them  their  pathetic  power,  and 
historical  majesty.  And  this  element  among 
the  wilds  of  our  own  country  I  found  wholly 
wanting.  The  Highland  cottage  is  literally  a 
heap  of  gray  stones,  choked  up,  rather  than 
roofed  over,  with  black  peat  and  withered 
heather;  the  only  approach  to  an  effort  at 
decoration  consists  in  the  placing  of  the  clods 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  3 

of  protective  peat  obliquely  on  its  roof,  so  as 
to  give  a  diagonal  arrangement  of  lines,  look- 
ing somewhat  as  if  the  surface  had  been  scored 
over  by  a  gigantic  claymore. 

2.  And,  at  least  among  the    northern    hills 
of  Scotland,  elements  of  more  ancient  archi- 
tectural   interest    are    equally    absent.       The 
solitary  peelhouse  is  hardly  discernible  by  the 
windings  of  the  stream;  the  roofless  aisle  of 
the  priory  is  lost  among  the  enclosures  of  the 
village ;  and  the  capital  city  of  the  Highlands, 
Inverness,  placed  where  it  might  ennoble  one 
of  the  sweetest  landscapes,  and  by  the  shore  of 
one  of  the  loveliest  estuaries  in  the  world ; — 
placed  between  the  crests  of  the  Grampians  and 
the  flowing  of  the  Moray  Firth,  as  if  it  were  a 
jewel  clasping  the  folds  of  the  mountains  to 
the  blue  zqne  of  the  sea, — is  only  distinguish- 
able   from    a    distance    by    one    architectural 
feature,    and    exalts  all  the  surrounding  land- 
scape   by    no    other    associations    than    those 
which    can    be    connected    with    its    modern 
castellated  gaol. 

3.  While  these  conditions  of  Scottish  scenery 
affected  me  very  painfully,   it  being  the  first 
time  in  my  life  that  I  had  been  in  any  country 


4  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

possessing  no  valuable  monuments  or  exam- 
ples of  art,  they  also  forced  me  into  the  con- 
sideration of  one  or  two  difficult  questions 
respecting  the  effect  of  art  on  the  human  mind ; 
and  they  forced  these  questions  upon  me 
eminently  for  this  reason,  that  while  I  was 
wandering  disconsolately  among  the  moors  of 
the  Grampians,  where  there  was  no  art  to  be 
found,  news  of  peculiar  interest  were  every 
day  arriving  from  a  country  where  there  was  a 
great  deal  of  art,  and  art  of  a  delicate  kind,  to 
be  found.  Among  the  models  set  before  you 
in  this  institution,  and  in  the  others  estab- 
lished throughout  the  kingdom  for  the  teaching 
of  design,  there  are,  I  suppose,  none  in  their 
kind  more  admirable  than  the  decorated  works 
of  India.  They  are,  indeed,  in  all  materials 
capable  of  colour, — wool,  marble,  or  metal, — 
almost  inimitable  in  their  delicate  application 
of  divided  hue,  and  fine  arrangement  of 
fantastic  line.  Nor  is  this  power  of  theirs 
exerted  by  the  people  rarely,  or  without  en- 
joyment; the  love  of  subtle  design  seems 
universal  in  the  race,  and  is  developed  in  every 
implement  that  they  shape,  and  every  building 
that  they  raise;  it  attaches  itself  with  the 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  5 

same  intensity,  and  with  the  same  success,  to 
the  service  of  superstition,  of  pleasure,  or  of 
cruelty ;  and  enriches  alike,  with  one  profusion 
of  enchanted  iridescence,  the  dome  of  the 
pagoda,  the  fringe  of  the  girdle,  and  the  edge 
of  the  sword. 

4.  So  then  you  have,  in  these  two  great 
populations,  Indian  and  Highland — in  the  races 
of  the  jungle  and  of  the  moor — two  national 
capacities  distinctly  and  accurately  opposed. 
On  the  one  side  you  have  a  race  rejoicing 
in  art,  and  eminently  and  universally  endowed 
with  the  gift  of  it ;  on  the  other  you  have 
a  people  careless  of  art,  and  apparently  in- 
capable of  it,  their  utmost  efforts  hitherto 
reaching  no  farther  than  to  the  variation 
of  the  positions  of  the  bars  of  colour  in 
square  chequers.  And  we  are  thus  urged 
naturally  to  inquire  what  is  the  effect  on  the 
moral  character,  in  each  nation,  of  this  vast 
difference  in  their  pursuits  and  apparent  capa- 
cities? and  whether  those  rude  chequers  of 
the  tartan,  or  the  exquisitely  fancied  invo- 
lutions of  the  Cashmere,  fold  habitually  over 
the  noblest  hearts  ?  We  have  had  our  answer. 
Since  the  race  of  man  began  its  course  of 


O  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

sin  on  this  earth,  nothing  has  ever  been 
done  by  it  so  significative  of  all  bestial,  and 
lower  than  bestial,  degradation,  as  the  acts 
of  the  Indian  race  in  the  year  that  has  just 
passed  by.  Cruelty  as  fierce  may  indeed 
have  been  wreaked,  and  brutality  as  abomin- 
able been  practised  before,  but  never  under 
like  circumstances;  rage  of  prolonged  war, 
and  resentment  of  prolonged  oppression,  have 
made  men  as  cruel  before  now;  and  gradual 
decline  into  barbarism,  where  no  examples  of 
decency  or  civilization  existed  around  them, 
has  sunk,  before  now,  isolated  populations  to 
the  lowest  level  of  possible  humanity.  But 
cruelty  stretched  to  its  fiercest  against  the 
gentle  and  unoffending,  and  corruption  festered 
to  its  loathsomest  in  the  midst  of  the  witness- 
ing presence  of  a  disciplined  civilization, — 
these  we  could  not  have  known  to  be  within 
the  practicable  compass  of  human  guilt,  but 
for  the  acts  of  the  Indian  mutineer.  And,  as 
thus,  on  the  one  hand,  you  have  an  extreme 
energy  of  baseness  displayed  by  these  lovers 
of  art;  on  the  other, — as  if  to  put  the  question 
into  the  narrowest  compass, — you  have  had 
an  extreme  energy  of  virtue  displayed  by  the 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  J 

despisers  of  art.  Among  all  the  soldiers  to 
whom  you  owe  your  victories  in  the  Crimea, 
and  your  avenging  in  the  Indies,  to  none  are 
you  bound  by  closer  bonds  of  gratitude  than 
to  the  men  who  have  been  born  and  bred 
among  those  desolate  Highland  moors.  And 
thus  you  have  the  differences  in  capacity  and 
circumstance  between  the  two  nations,  and 
the  differences  in  result  on  the  moral  habits 
of  two  nations,  put  into  the  most  significant — 
the  most  palpable — the  most  brief  opposition. 
Out  of  the  peat  cottage  come  faith,  courage, 
self-sacrifice,  purity,  and  piety,  and  whatever 
else  is  fruitful  in  the  work  of  Heaven;  out 
of  the  ivory  palace  come  treachery,  cruelty, 
cowardice,  idolatry,  bestiality, — whatever  else 
is  fruitful  in  the  work  of  Hell. 

5.  But  the  difficulty  does  not  close  here. 
From  one  instance,  of  however  great  apparent 
force,  it  would  be  wholly  unfair  to  gather  any 
general  conclusion — wholly  illogical  to  assert 
that  because  we  had  once  found  love  of  art 
connected  with  moral  baseness,  the  love  of  art 
must  be  the  general  root  of  moral  baseness; 
and  equally  unfair  to  assert  that,  because  we 
had  once  found  neglect  of  art  coincident  with 


8  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

nobleness  of  disposition,  neglect  of  art  must  be 
always  the  source  or  sign  of  that  nobleness. 
But  if  we  pass  from  the  Indian  peninsula  into 
other  countries  of  the  globe;  and  from  our 
own  recent  experience,  to  the  records  of 
history,  we  shall  still  find  one  great  fact 
fronting  us,  in  stern  universality — namely,  the 
apparent  connection  of  great  success  in  art 
with  subsequent  national  degradation.  You 
find,  in  the  first  place,  that  the  nations  which 
possessed  a  refined  art  were  always  subdued 
by  those  who  possessed  none :  you  find  the 
Lydian  subdued  by  the  Mede;  the  Athenian 
by  the  Spartan;  the  Greek  by  the  Roman; 
the  Roman  by  the  Goth;  the  Burgundian  by 
the  Switzer:  but  you  find,  beyond  this — that 
even  where  no  attack  by  any  external  power 
has  accelerated  the  catastrophe  of  the  state, 
the  period  in  which  any  given  people  reach 
their  highest  power  in  art  is  precisely  that  in 
which  they  appear  to  sign  the  warrant  of  their 
own  ruin ;  arid  that,  from  the  moment  in  which 
a  perfect  statue  appears  in  Florence,  a  perfect 
picture  in  Venice,  or  a  perfect  fresco  in  Rome, 
from  that  hour  forward,  probity,  industry,  and 
courage  seem  to  be  exiled  from  their  walls, 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  9 

and  they  perish  in  a  sculpturesque  paralysis, 
or  a  many-coloured  corruption. 

6.  But  even  this  is  not  all.     As  art  seems 
thus,   in  its  delicate  form,   to   be  one  of  the 
chief  promoters  of  indolence  and    sensuality, 
— so,   I   need   hardly  remind  you,  it  hitherto 
has  appeared  only  in  energetic  manifestation 
when  it  was   in   the   service   of  superstition. 
The  four  great  manifestations  of  human  intel- 
lect which  founded    the   four   principal   king- 
doms of  art, — Egyptian,    Babylonian,    Greek, 
and  Italian, — were  developed  by  the  strong  ex- 
citement of  active  superstition  in  the  worship 
of  Osiris,  Belus,  Minerva,  and  the  Queen  of 
Heaven.     Therefore,  to  speak  briefly,  it  may 
appear   very   difficult    to    show   that   art   has 
ever  yet  existed  in  a  consistent  and  thoroughly 
energetic  school,  unless  it  was  engaged  in  the 
propagation  of  falsehood,  or  the  encouragement 
of  vice. 

7.  And  finally,   while  art  has  thus  shown 
itself  always  active  in  the  service  of  luxury 
and  idolatry,  it  has  also  been  strongly  directed 
to  the  exaltation  of  cruelty.     A  nation  which 
lives  a  pastoral  and  innocent  life  never  deco- 
rates   the    shepherd's    staff   or    the    plough- 


IO  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

handle;  but  races  who  live  by  depredation 
and  slaughter  nearly  always  bestow  exquisite 
ornaments  on  the  quiver,  the  helmet,  and  the 
spear. 

8.  Does  it  not  seem  to   you,   then,   on  all 
these   three   counts,    more   than    questionable 
whether  we  are  assembled  here  in  Kensington 
Museum    to   any  good    purpose  ?     Might   we 
not   justly    be    looked    upon    with    suspicion 
and  fear,  rather  than  with  sympathy,  by  the 
innocent    and    unartistical    public  ?     Are    we 
even  sure  of  ourselves  ?     Do  we  know  what 
we  are  about  ?     Are  we  met  here  as  honest 
people?  or  are  we  not  rather  so  many  Cati- 
lines  assembled  to  devise  the  hasty  degrada- 
tion   of  our   country,   or,   like   a   conclave   of 
midnight  witches,  to  summon  and  send  forth, 
on  new  and  unsuspected  missions,  the  demons 
of  luxury,  cruelty,  and  superstition  ? 

9.  I  trust,  upon  the  whole,  that  it  is  not  so : 
I  am  sure  that  Mr.  Redgrave  and  Mr.  Cole  do' 
not  at  all  include  results  of  this  kind  in  their 
conception  of  the  ultimate  objects  of  the  insti- 
tution which  owes  so  much  to  their  strenuous 
and  well-directed  exertions.     And  I  have  put 
this  painful  question  before  you,  only  that  we 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  II 

may  face  it  thoroughly,  and,  as  I  hope,  out-face 
it.  If  you  will  give  it  a  little  sincere  attention 
this  evening,  I  trust  we  may  find  sufficiently 
good  reasons  for  our  work,  and  proceed  to 
it  hereafter,  as  all  good  workmen  should  do, 
with  clear  heads,  and  calm  consciences. 

10.  To  return,   then,   to   the  first  point   of 
difficulty,  the  relations  between  art  and  mental 
disposition  in  India  and  Scotland.     It  is  quite 
true  that  the  art  of  India  is  delicate  and  re- 
fined.    But  it  has  one  curious  character  dis- 
tinguishing it  from  all  other  art  of  equal  merit 
in  design — it  never  represents  a  natural  fact. 
It  either  forms  its  compositions  out  of  mean- 
ingless  fragments  of  colour  and    flowings   of 
line;   or,  if  it  represents  any  living  creature, 
it  represents  that  creature  under  some  distorted 
and  monstrous   form.     To   all   the   facts   and 
forms  of  nature  it  wilfully  and  resolutely  op- 
poses itself:  it  will  not  draw  a  man,  but  an 
eight-armed    monster;  it    will     not     draw     a 
flower,  but  only  a  spiral  or  a  zigzag. 

11.  It  thus  indicates  that  the  people  who 
practise  it  are  cut  off  from  all  possible  sources 
of  healthy  knowledge  or  natural  delight ;  that 
they  have  wilfully  sealed   up  and   put   aside 


12 


DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 


the  entire  volume  of  the  world,  and  have  got 
nothing  to  read,  nothing  to  dwell  upon,  but 
that  imagination  of  the  thoughts  of  their 
hearts,  of  which  we  are  told  that  "it  is  only 
evil  continually."  Over  the  whole  spectacle 
of  creation  they  have  thrown  a  veil  in  which 
there  is  no  rent.  For  them  no  star  peeps 
through  the  blanket  of  the  dark — for  them 
neither  their  heaven  shines  nor  their  mountains 
rise — for  them  the  flowers  do  not  blossom — 
for  them  the  creatures  of  field  and  forest  do 
not  live.  They  lie  bound  in  the  dungeon  of 
their  own  corruption,  encompassed  only  by 
doleful  phantoms,  or  by  spectral  vacancy. 

12.  Need  I  remind  you  what  an  exact  re- 
verse of  this  condition  of  mind,  as  respects 
the  observance  of  nature,  is  presented  by  the 
people  whom  we  have  just  been  led  to  contem- 
plate in  contrast  with  the  Indian  race  ?  You 
will  find,  upon  reflection,  that  all  the  highest 
points  of  the  Scottish  character  are  connected 
with  impressions  derived  straight  from  the 
natural  scenery  of  their  country.  No  nation 
has  ever  before  shown,  in  the  general  tone  of 
its  language, — in  the  general  current  of  its 
literature, — so  constant  a  habit  of  hallowing  its 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  13 

passions  and  confirming  its  principles  by  direct 
association  with  the  charm,  or  power,  of  nature. 
The  writings  of  Scott  and  Burns — and  yet 
more,  of  the  far  greater  poets  than  Burns  who 
gave  Scotland  her  traditional  ballads, — furnish 
you  in  every  stanza — almost  in  every  line — 
with  examples  of  this  association  of  natural 
scenery  with  the  passions ;  *  but  an  instance 
of  its  farther  connection  with  moral  principle 
struck  me  forcibly  just  at  the  time  when  I  was 
most  lamenting  the  absence  of  art  among  the 
people.  In  one  of  the  loneliest  districts  of 
Scotland,  where  the  peat  cottages  are  darkest, 
just  at  the  western  foot  of  that  great  mass  of 
the  Grampians  which  encircles  the  sources  of 
the  Spey  and  the  Dee,  the  main  road  which 
traverses  the  chain  winds  round  the  foot  of  a 

*  The  great  poets  of  Scotland,  like  the  great  poets  of  all 
other  countries,  never  write  dissolutely,  either  in  matter  or 
method ;  but  with  stern  and  measured  meaning  in  even; 
syllable.  Here's  a  bit  of  first-rate  work  for  example  : — 

"  Tweed  said  to  Till, 

'  What  gars  ye  rin  sae  still  ? ' 

Till  said  to  Tweed, 

'  Though  ye  rin  wi'  speed, 

And  I  rin  slaw, 

Whar  ye  droon  ae  man, 

I  droon  twa.' " 


14  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

broken  rock  called  Crag,  or  Craig  Ellachie. 
There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  either  its 
height  or  form;  it  is  darkened  with  a  few 
scattered  pines,  and  touched  along  its  summit 
with  a  flush  of  heather;  but  it  constitutes  a 
kind  of  headland,  or  leading  promontory,  in  the 
group  of  hills  to  which  it  belongs — a  sort  of 
initial  letter  of  the  mountains ;  and  thus  stands 
in  the  mind  of  the  inhabitants  of  the  district, 
the  Clan  Grant,  for  a  type  of  their  country,  and 
of  the  influence  of  that  country  upon  them- 
selves. Their  sense  of  this  is  beautifully 
indicated  in  the  war-cry  of  the  clan,  "Stand 
fast,  Craig  Ellachie."  You  may  think  long 
over  those  few  words  without  exhausting  the 
deep  wells  of  feeling  and  thought  contained  in 
them — the  love  of  the  native  land,  the  assur- 
ance of  their  faithfulness  to  it;  the  subdued 
and  gentle  assertion  of  indomitable  courage — 
I  may  need  to  be  told  to  stand,  but,  if  I  do, 
Craig  Ellachie  does.  You  could  not  but  have 
felt,  had  you  passed  beneath  it  at  the  time 
when  so  many  of  England's  dearest  children 
were  being  defended  by  the  strength  of  heart 
of  men  born  at  its  foot,  how  often  among  the 
delicate  Indian  palaces,  whose  marble  .was 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  I  5 

pallid  with  horror,  and  whose  vermilion  was 
darkened  with  blood,  the  remembrance  of  its 
rough  gray  rocks  and  purple  heaths  must  have 
risen  before  the  sight  of  the  Highland  soldier; 
how  often  the  hailing  of  the  shot  and  the 
shriek  of  battle  would  pass  away  from  his 
hearing,  and  leave  only  the  whisper  of  the 
old  pine  branches,  — "  Stand  fast,  Craig 
Ellachie!" 

13.  You  have,  in  these  two  nations,  seen  in 
direct  opposition  the  effects  on  moral  sentiment 
of  art  without  nature,  and  of  nature  without 
art.     And  you   see  enough  to  justify  you  in 
suspecting — while,  if  you  choose  to  investigate 
the  subject  more  deeply  and  with  other  ex- 
amples, you  will  find  enough  to  justify  you  in 
concluding — that   art,    followed    as    such,    and 
for  its  own  sake,  irrespective  of  the  interpre- 
tation of  nature  by  it,  is  destructive  of  what- 
ever is  best    and    noblest    in    humanity;    but 
that    nature,    however    simply    observed,    or 
imperfectly  known,  is,   in    the   degree   of  the 
affection    felt  for  it,  protective  and  helpful  to 
all  that  is  noblest  in  humanity. 

14.  You  might   then   conclude   farther,  that 
art,  so  far  as  it  was  devoted  to  the  lecord  or 


1 6  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

the  interpretation  of  nature,  would  be  helpful 
and  ennobling  also. 

15.  And  you  would  conclude  this  with  per- 
fect truth.     Let  me  repeat  the  assertion  dis- 
tinctly and  solemnly,  as  the  first  that   I   am 
permitted  to  make  in  this  building,  devoted  in 

a  way  so  new  and  so  admirable  to  the  service 

of  the  art-students  of  England — Wherever  art 
is  practised  for  its  own  sake,  and  the  delight  of 
the  workman  is  in  what  he  does  and  produces, 
instead  of  in  what  he  interprets  or  exhibits, — 
there  art  has  an  influence  of  the  most  fatal 
kind  on  brain  and  heart,  and  it  issues,  if  long 
so  pursued,  in  the  destruction  both  of  intellectual 
power  and  moral  principle ;  whereas  art,  devoted 
humbly  and  self-forgetfully  to  the  clear  state- 
ment and  record  of  the  facts  of  the  universe,  is 
always  helpful  and  beneficent  to  mankind,  full 
of  comfort,  strength,  and  salvation. 

1 6.  Now,  when  you  were  once  well  assured 
of  this,  you  might  logically  infer  another  thing, 
namely,  that  when  Art  was   occupied  in   the 
function   in    which    she   was    serviceable,    she 
would  herself  be  strengthened  by  the  service ; 
and   when    she    was    doing   what    Providence 
without  doubt  intended  her  to  do,  she  would 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  I/ 

gain  in  vitality  and  dignity  just  as  she  advanced 
in  usefulness.  On  the  other  hand,  you  might 
gather,  that  when  her  agency  was  distorted  to 
the  deception  or  degradation  of  mankind,  she 
would  herself  be  equally  misled  and  degraded 
—that  she  would  be  checked  in  advance,  or 
precipitated  in  decline. 

17.  And  this  is  the  truth  also;  and  holding 
this  clue  you  will  easily  and  justly  interpret 
the  phenomena  of  history.  So  long  as  Art 
is  steady  in  the  contemplation  and  exhibition 
of  natural  facts,  so  long  she  herself  lives  and 
grows ;  and  in  her  own  life  and  growth 
partly  implies,  partly  secures,  that  of  the 
nation  in  the  midst  of  which  she  is  practised. 
But  a  time  has  always  hitherto  come,  in  which, 
having  thus  reached  a  singular  perfection, 
she  begins  to  contemplate  that  perfection,  and 
to  imitate  it,  and  deduce  rules  and  forms  from 
it;  and  thus  to  forget  her  duty  and  ministry 
as  the  interpreter  and  discoverer  of  Truth. 
And  in  the  very  instant  when  this  diversion 
of  her  purpose  and  forgetfulness  of  her  func- 
tion take  place — forgetfulness  generally  coin- 
cident with  her  apparent  perfection — in  that 

instant,  I  say,  begins  her  actual  catastrophe; 

B 


1 8  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

and  by  her  own  fall — so  far  as  she  has  in- 
fluence— she  accelerates  the  ruin  of  the  nation 
by  which  she  is  practised. 

1 8.  The    study,    however,    of  the    effect   of 
art  on  the  mind  of  nations  is  one  rather  for 
the  historian  than  for  us;  at  all  events  it  is 
one  for  the  discussion  of  which  we  have  no 
more  time  this  evening.     But  I  will  ask  your 
patience  with  me  while  I  try  to  illustrate,  in 
some  farther   particulars,    the   dependence   of 
the  healthy  state  and  power  of  art  itself  upon 
the  exercise  of  its  appointed  function  in  the 
interpretation  of  fact. 

19.  You  observe  that   I   always  say  inter- 
pretation^ never  imitation.    My  reason  for  doing 

so  is,  first,  that  good  art  rarely  imitates;  it 
usually  only  describes  or  explains.  But  my 
second  and  chief  reason  is  that  good  art 
always  consists  of  two  things :  First,  the 
observation  of  facts  ;  secondly,  the  manifesting 
of  human  design  and  authority  in  the  way  that 
fact  is  told.  Great  and  good  art  must  unite 
the  two;  it  cannot  exist  for  a  moment  but 
in  their  unity;  it  consists  of  the  two  as 
essentially  as  water  consists  of  oxygen  and 
hydrogen,  or  marble  of  lime  and  carbonic  acid. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  1 9 

20.  Let  us  inquire  a  little  into  the  nature 
of  each  of  the  elements.  The  first  element, 
we  say,  is  the  love  of  Nature,  leading  to  the 
effort  to  observe  and  report  her  truly.  And 
this  is  the  first  and  leading  element.  Review 
for  yourselves  the  history  of  art,  and  you 
will  find  this  to  be  a  manifest  certainty,  that 
no  great  school  ever  yet  existed  which  had  not 
for  primal  aim  the  representation  of  some 
natural  fact  as  truly  as  possible.  There  have 
only  yet  appeared  in  the  world  three  schools 
of  perfect  art — schools,  that  is  to  say,  which  did 
their  work  as  well  as  it  seems  possible  to  do 
it.  These  are  the  Athenian,*  Florentine,  and 
Venetian.  The  Athenian  proposed  to  itself 
the  perfect  representation  of  the  form  of  the 
human  body.  It  strove  to  do  that  as  well  as  it 
could;  it  did  that  as  well  as  it  can  be  done; 
and  all  its  greatness  was  founded  upon  and 
involved  in  that  single  and  honest  effort.  The 
Florentine  school  proposed  to  itself  the  perfect 
expression  of  human  emotion — the  showing  of 
the  effects  of  passion  in  the  human  face  and 
gesture.  I  call  this  the  Florentine  school, 

*  See  below,  the  farther  notice  of  the  real  spirit  of  Greek 
work,  in  the  address  at  Bradford. 


2O  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

because,  whether  you  take  Raphael  for  the 
culminating  master  of  expressional  art  in  Italy, 
or  Leonardo,  or  Michael  Angelo,  you  will 
find  that  the  whole  energy  of  the  natiohal 
effort  which  produced  those  masters  had  its 
root  in  Florence;  not  at  Urbino  or  Milan. 
I  say,  then,  this  Florentine  or  leading  Italian 
school  proposed  to  itself  human  expression 
for  its  aim  in  natural  truth;  it  strove  to  do 
that  as  well  as  it  could — did  it  as  well  as  it 
can  be  done — and  all  its  greatness  is  rooted 
in  that  single  and  honest  effort.  Thirdly,  the 
Venetian  school  proposed  to  itself  the  repre- 
sentation of  the  effect  of  colour  and  shade  on 
all  things;  chiefly  on  the  human  form.  It 
tried  to  do  that  as  well  as  it  could — did  it  as 
well  as  it  can  be  done — and  all  its  greatness 
is  founded  on  that  single  and  honest  effort. 

21.  Pray,  do  not  leave  this  room  without  a 
perfectly  clear  holding  of  these  three  ideas. 
You  may  try  them,  and  toss  them  about, 
afterwards,  as  much  as  you  like,  to  see  if 
they'll  bear  shaking;  but  do  let  me  put  them 
well  and  plainly  into  your  possession.  Attach 
them  to  three  works  of  art  which  you  all  have 
either  seen  or  continually  heard  of.  There's 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  21 

the  (so-called)  "Theseus"  of  the  Elgin 
Marbles.  That  represents  the  whole  end  and 
aim  of  the  Athenian  school — the  natural  form 
of  the  human  body.  All  their  conventional 
architecture — their  graceful  shaping  and  paint- 
ing of  pottery — whatsoever  other  art  they 
practised — was  dependent  for  its  greatness 
on  this  sheet-anchor  of  central  aim :  true 
shape  of  living  man.  Then  take,  for  your 
type  of  the  Italian  school,  Raphael's  "  Disputa 
del  Sacramento ; "  that  will  be  an  accepted 
type  by  everybody,  and  will  involve  no  pos- 
sibly questionable  points :  the  Germans  will 
admit  it;  the  English  academicians  will  admit 
it;  and  the  English  purists  and  pre-Raphael- 
ites  will  admit  it.  Well,  there  you  have  the 
truth  of  human  expression  proposed  as  an 
aim.  That  is  the  way  people  look  when  they 
feel  this  or  that — when  they  have  this  or  that 
other  mental  character:  are  they  devotional, 
thoughtful,  affectionate,  indignant,  or  inspired  ? 
are  they  prophets,  saints,  priests,  or  kings  ? 
then — whatsoever  is  truly  thoughtful,  affec- 
tionate, prophetic,  priestly,  kingly — that  the 
Florentine  school  tried  to  discern,  and  show; 
that  they  have  discerned  and  shown;  and 


22  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

all  their  greatness  is  first  fastened  in  their  aim 
at  this  central  truth — the  open  expression  of 
the  living  human  soul. 

22.  Lastly,   take    Veronese's   "  Marriage  in 
Cana"   in  the  Louvre.     There  you  have  the 
most  perfect  representation  possible  of  colour, 
and   light,  and   shade,  as   they   affect   the  ex- 
ternal   aspect    of  the    human    form,    and    its 
immediate  accessories,   architecture,  furniture, 
and    dress.     This  external  aspect   of  noblest 
nature  was  the  first  aim  of  the  Venetians,  and 
all  their  greatness  depended  on  their  resolution 
to  achieve,  and  their  patience  in  achieving  it. 

23,  Here,    then,    are    the     three    greatest 
schools  of  the  former   world  exemplified  for 
you  in  three  well-known  works.     The  Phidian 
"  Theseus  "  represents  the  Greek  school  pur- 
suing   truth     of    form ;     the     "  Disputa "    of 
Raphael,  the  Florentine  school  pursuing  truth 
of    mental     expression ;    the     "  Marriage     in 
Cana,"  the  Venetian  school  pursuing  truth  of 
colour  and  light.     But  do  not  suppose  that  the 
law  which  I  am  stating  to  you — the  great  law 
of  art-life — can   only    be   seen   in   these,    the 
most  powerful  of  all  art  schools.     It  is  just  as 
manifest  in  each  and. every  school  that  ever 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  23 

has  had  life  in  it  at  all.  Wheresoever  the 
search  after  truth  begins,  there  life  begins; 
wheresoever  that  search  ceases,  there  life 
ceases.  As  long  as  a  school  of  art  holds  any 
chain  of  natural  facts,  trying  to  discover  more 
of  them  and  express  them  better  daily,  it  may 
play  hither  and  thither  as  it  likes  on  this  side 
of  the  chain  or  that ;  it  may  design  grotesques 
and  conventionalisms,  build  the  simplest  build- 
ings, serve  the  most  practical  utilities,  yet  all 
it  does  will  be  gloriously  designed  and  glo- 
riously done;  but  let  it  once  quit  hold  of  the 
chain  of  natural  fact,  cease  to  pursue  that  as 
the  clue  to  its  work;  let  it  propose  to  itself 
any  other  end  than  preaching  this  living  word, 
and  think  first  of  showing  its  own  skill  or  its 
own  fancy,  and  from  that  hour  its  fall  is 
precipitate — its  destruction  sure;  nothing  that 
it  does  or  designs  will  ever  have  life  or  love- 
liness in  it  more ;  its  hour  has  come,  and  there 
is  no  work,  nor  device,  nor  knowledge,  nor 
wisdom  in  the  grave  whither  it  goeth. 

24.  Let  us  take  for  example  that  school  of 
art  over  which  many  of  you  would  perhaps 
think  this  law  had  little  power — the  school  of 
Gothic  architecture.  Many  of  us  may  have 


24  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

been  in  the  habit  of  thinking  of  that  school 
rather  as  one  of  forms  than  of  facts — a  school 
of  pinnacles,  and  buttresses,  and  conventional 
mouldings,  and  disguise  of  nature  by  mon- 
strous imaginings — not  a  school  of  truth  at  all. 
I  think  I  shall  be  able,  even  in  the  little  time 
we  have  to-night,  to  show  that  this  is  not  so ; 
and  that  our  great  law  holds  just  as  good  at 
Amiens  and  Salisbury  as-  it  does  at  Athens 
and  Florence. 

25.  I   will  go  back  then  first  to  the  very 
beginnings  of  Gothic  art,  and  before  you,  the 
students   of    Kensington,    as    an    impannelled 
jury,   I  will  bring  two  examples  of  the  bar- 
barism out  of  which  Gothic  art  merges,  ap- 
proximately contemporary  in  date  and  parallel 
in  executive  skill;    but,  the  one,  a  barbarism 
that  did  not  get  on,  and  could  not  get  on; 
the   other,    a   barbarism    that    could    get    on, 
and   did   get   on;    and  you,   the   impannelled 
jury,  shall  judge  what  is  the  essential  differ- 
ence between  the  two  barbarisms,  and  decide 
for  yourselves  what  is  the  seed  of  life  in  the 
one,  and  the  sign  of  death  in  the  other. 

26.  The  first, — that  which  has  in  it  the  sign 
of  death,  — furnishes  us  at  the  same  time  with 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  2  $ 

an  illustration  far  too  interesting  to  be  passed 
by,  of  certain  principles  much  depended  on  by 
our  common  modern  designers.  Taking  up 
one  of  our  architectural  publications  the  other 
day,  and  opening  it  at  random,  I  chanced 
upon  this  piece  of  information,  put  in  rather 
curious  English;  but  you  shall  have  it  as  it 
stands : — 

"Aristotle  asserts,  that  the  greatest  species 
of  the  beautiful  are  Order,  Symmetry,  and  the 
Definite." 

27.  I  should  tell  you,  however,  that  this 
statement  is  not  given  as  authoritative;  it  is 
one  example  of  various  Architectural  teachings, 
given  in  a  report  in  the  Building  Chronicle  for 
May,  1857,  of  a  lecture  on  Proportion;  in 
which  the  only  thing  the  lecturer  appears  to 
have  proved  was  that, — 

"The  system  of  dividing  the  diameter  of  the  shaft 
of  a  column  into  parts  for  copying  the  ancient  archi- 
tectural remains  of  Greece  and  Rome,  adopted  by 
architects  from  Vitruvius  (circa  B.C.  25)  to  the  present 
period,  as  a  method  for  producing  ancient  architecture, 
is  entirely  useless,  for  the  several  parts  of  Grecian 
architecture  cannot  be  reduced  or  subdivided  by  this 
system ;  neither  does  it  apply  to  the  architecture  of 
Rome." 


26  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

28.  Still,  as  far  as  I  can  make  it  out,  the 
lecture  appears  to  have  been  just  one  of  those 
of  which  you  will  at  present  hear  so  many, 
the  protests  of  architects  who  have  no  know- 
ledge of  sculpture — or  of  any  other  mode  of 
expressing  natural  beauty — against  natural 
beauty ;  and  their  endeavour  to  substitute 
mathematical  proportions  for  the  knowledge  of 
life  they  do  not  possess,  and  the  representation 
of  life  of  which  they  are  incapable.  Now,  this 
substitution  of  obedience  to  mathematical -law 
for  sympathy  with  observed  life,  is  the  first 
characteristic  of  the  hopeless  work  of  all  ages  ; 
as  such,  you  will  find 
it  eminently  manifested 
in  the  specimen  I  have 
to  give  you  of  the  hope- 
less Gothic  barbarism; 
the  barbarism  from 
which  nothing  could 
emerge — for  which  no 
future  was  possible  but 
extinction.  The  Aristotelian  principles  of  the 
Beautiful  are,  you  remember,  Order,  Sym- 
metry, and  the  Definite.  Here  you  have  the 
three,  in  perfection,  applied  to  the  ideal  of  an 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  2/ 

angel,  in  a  psalter  of  the  eighth  century,  ex- 
isting in  the  library  of  St.  John's  College, 
Cambridge.* 

29.  Now,  you  see  the  characteristics  of  this 
utterly  dead  school  are,  first,  the  wilful  closing 
of  its  eyes  to  natural  facts ; — for,  however 
ignorant  a  person  may  be,  he  need  only  look 
at  a  human  being  to  see  that  it  has  a  mouth  as 
well  as  eyes ;  and  secondly,  the  endeavour  to 
adorn  or  idealize  natural  fact  according  to  its 
own  notions :  it  puts  red  spots  in  the  middle 
of  the  hands,  and  sharpens  the  thumbs,  think- 
ing to  improve  them.  Here  you  have  the  most 
pure  type  possible  of  the  principles  of  idealism 
in  all  ages :  whenever  people  don't  look  at 
Nature,  they  always  think  they  can  improve 
her.  You  will  also  admire,  doubtless,  the 
exquisite  result  of  the  application  of  our  great 
modern  architectural  principle  of  beauty — 
symmetry,  or  equal  balance  of  part  by  part; 
you  see  even  the  eyes  are  made  symmetrical 
— entirely  round,  instead  of  irregularly  oval; 
arid  the  iris  is  set  properly  in  the  middle, 
instead  of — as  nature  has  absurdly  put  it — 

*  I  copy  this  woodcut  from  West  wood's  "  Palaeographia 
Sacra." 


28  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

rather  under  the  upper  lid.  You  will  also  ob- 
serve the  "principle  of  the  pyramid"  in  the 
general  arrangement  of  the  figure,  and  the 
value  of  "  series  "  in  the  placing  of  the  dots. 

30.  From  this  dead  barbarism  we  pass  to 
living  barbarism — to  work  done  by  hands 
quite  as  rude,  if  not  ruder,  and  by  minds  as 
uninformed ;  and  yet  work  which  in  every  line 
of  it  is  prophetic  of  power,  and  has  in  it  the 
sure  dawn  of  day.  You  have  often  heard  it 
said  that  Giotto  was  the  founder  of  art  in 
Italy.  He  was  not :  neither  he,  nor  Giunta 
Pisano,  nor  Niccolo  Pisano.  They  all  laid 
strong  hands  to  the  work,  and  brought  it  first 
into  aspect  above  ground;  but  the  foundation 
had  been  laid  for  them  by  the  builders  of 
the  Lombardic  churches  in  the  valleys  of 
the  Adda  and  the  Arno.  It  is  in  the  sculp- 
ture of  the  round  arched  churches  of  North 
Italy,  bearing  disputable  dates,  ranging  from 
the  eighth  to  the  twelfth  century,  that  you  will 
find  the  lowest  struck  roots  of  the  art  of  Titian 
and  Raphael.*  I  go,  therefore,  to  the  church 

*  I  have  said  elsewhere,  "  The  root  of  all  art  is  struck  in 
the  thirteenth  century."  This  is  quite  true :  but  of  course 
some  of  the  smallest  fibres  run  lower,  as  in  this  instance. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  2Q 

which  is  certainly  the  earliest  of  these,  St. 
Ambrogio,  of  Milan,  said  still  to  retain  some 
portions  of  the  actual  structure  from  which 
St.  Ambrose  excluded  Theodosius,  and  at  all 
events  furnishing  the  most  archaic  examples  of 
Lombardic  sculpture  in  North  Italy.  I  do  not 
venture  to  guess  their  date ;  they  are  barbar- 
ous enough  for  any  date. 

31.  We    find    the    pulpit    of    this    church 
covered     with     interlacing     patterns,     closely 
resembling  those  of  the  manuscript  at  Cam- 
bridge, but  among  them  is  figure  sculpture  of  a 
very  different  kind.     It  is  wrought  with  mere 
incisions  in  the  stone,  of  which  the  effect  may 
be  tolerably  given  by  single  lines  in  a  drawing. 
Remember,  therefore,  for  a  moment — as  cha- 
racteristic of  culminating  Italian  art — Michael 
Angelo's  fresco  of  the  "Temptation  of  Eve," 
in  the  Sistine  chapel,  and  you  will  be  more  in- 
terested in  seeing  the  birth  of  Italian  art,  illus- 
trated by  the  same  subject,  from  St.  Ambrogio 
of  Milan,  the  "  Serpent  beguiling  Eve."  * 

32.  Yet,  in  that  sketch,  rude  and  ludicrous 

*  This  cut  is  ruder  than  it  should  be ;  the  incisions  in 
the  marble  have  a  lighter  effect  than  these  rough  black 
lines ;  but  it  is  not  worth  while  to  do  it  better. 


3O  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

as  it  is,  you  have  the  elements  of  life  in  their 
first  form.  The  people  who  could  do  that 
were  sure  to  get  on.  For/  observe,  the  work- 
man's whole  aim  is  straight  at  the  facts,  as  well 
as  he  can  get  them ;  and  not  merely  at  the 
facts,  but  at  the  very  heart  of  the  facts.  A 
common  workman  might  have  looked  at  nature 


for  his  serpent,  but  he  would  have  thought 
only  of  its  scales.  But  this  fellow  does  not 
want  scales,  nor  coils;  he  can  do  without 
them;  he  wants  the  serpent's  heart — malice 
and  insinuation; — and  he  has  actually  got 
them  to  some  extent.  So  also  a  common 
workman,  even  in  this  barbarous  stage  of  art, 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  31 

might  have  carved  Eve's  arms  and  body  a 
good  deal  better;  but  this  man  does  not  care 
about  arms  and  body,  if  he  can  only  get  at 
Eve's  mind — show  that  she  is  pleased  at  being 
flattered,  and  yet  in  a  state  of  uncomfortable 
hesitation.  And  some  look  of  listening,  of 
complacency,  and  of  embarrassment  he  has 
verily  got : — note  the  eyes  slightly  askance, 
the  lips  compressed,  and  the  right  hand  ner- 
vously grasping  the  left  arm :  nothing  can  be 
declared  impossible  to  the  people  who  could 
begin  thus — the  world  is  open  to  them,  and  all 
that  is  in  it ;  while,  on  the  contrary,  nothing  is 
possible  to  the  man  who  did  the  symmetrical 
angel — the  world  is  keyless  to  him;  he  has 
built  a  cell  for  himself  in  which  he  must  abide, 
barred  up  for  ever — there  is  no  more  hope 
for  him  than  for  a  sponge  or  a  madrepore. 

33.  I  shall  not  trace  from  this  embryo  the 
progress  of  Gothic  art  in  Italy,  because  it  is 
much  complicated  and  involved  with  traditions 
of  other  schools,  and  because  most  of  the 
students  will  be  less  familiar  with  its  results 
than  with  their  own  northern  buildings.  So, 
these  two  designs  indicating  Death  and  Life 
in  the  beginnings  of  mediaeval  art,  we  will 


32  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

take  as  example  of  the  progress  of  that  art 
from  our  northern  work.  Now,  many  of  you, 
doubtless,  have  been  interested  by  the  mass, 
grandeur,  and  gloom  of  Norman  architecture, 
as  much  as  by  Gothic  traceries;  and  when 
you  hear  me  say  that  the  root  of  all  good 
work  lies  in  natural  facts,  you  doubtless  think 
instantly  of  your  round  arches,  with  their  rude 
cushion  capitals,  and  of  the  billet  or  zigzag 
work  by  which  they  are  surrounded,  and  you 
cannot  see  what  the  knowledge  of  nature  has 
to  do  with  either  the  simple  plan  or  the  rude 
mouldings.  But  all  those  simple  conditions 
of  Norman  art  are  merely  the  expiring  of  it 
towards  the  extreme  north.  Do  not  study 
Norman  architecture  in  Northumberland,  but 
in  Normandy,  and  then  you  will  find  that  it 
is  just  a  peculiarly  manly,  and  practically  use- 
ful form  of  the  whole  great  French  school  of 
rounded  architecture.  And  where  has  that 
French  school  its  origin?  Wholly  in  the 
rich  conditions  of  sculpture,  which,  rising  first 
out  of  imitations  of  the  Roman  bas-reliefs, 
covered  all  the  facades  of  the  French  early 
churches  with  one  continuous  arabesque  of 
floral  or  animal  life.  If  you  want  to  study 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  33 

round-arched  buildings,  do  not  go  to  Durham, 
but  go  to  Poictiers,  and  there  you  will  see  how 
all  the  simple  decorations  which  give  you  so 
much  pleasure  even  in  their  isolated  applica- 
tion were  invented  by  persons  practised  in 
carving  men,  monsters,  wild  animals,  birds, 
and  flowers,  in  overwhelming  redundance ; 
and  then  trace  this  architecture  forward  in 
central  France,  and  you  will  find  it  loses 
nothing  of  its  richness — it  only  gains  in  truth, 
and  therefore  in  grace,  until  just  at  the 
moment  of  transition  into  the  pointed  style, 
you  have  the  consummate  type  of  the  sculpture 
of  the  school  given  you  in  the  west  front  of 
the  Cathedral  of  Chartres.  From  that  front  I 
have  chosen  two  fragments  to  illustrate  it.* 

34.  These  statues  have  been  long,  and  justly, 
considered  as  representative  of  the  highest 
skill  of  the  twelfth  or  earliest  part  of  the 
thirteenth  century  in  France ;  and  they  indeed 

*  This  part  of  the  lecture  was  illustrated  by  two  drawings, 
made  admirably  by  Mr.  J.  T.  Laing,  with  the  help  of 
photographs,  from  statues  at  Chartres.  The  drawings  may 
be  seen  at  present  at  the  Kensington  Museum ;  but  any 
large  photograph  of  the  west  front  of  Chartres  will  enable 
the  reader  to  follow  what  is  stated  in  the  lecture,  as  far 
as  is  needful. 


34  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF. 

possess  a  dignity  and  delicate  charm,  which 
are  for  the  most  part  wanting  in  later  works. 
It  is  owing  partly  to  real  nobleness  of  feature, 
but  chiefly  to  the  grace,  mingled  with  seve- 
rity, of  the  falling  lines  of  excessively  thin 
drapery ;  as  well  as  to  a  most  studied  finish  in 
composition,  every  part  of  the  ornamentation 
tenderly  harmonizing  with  the  rest.  So  far  as 
their  power  over  certain  tones  of  religious 
mind  is  owing  to  a  palpable  degree  of  non- 
naturalism  in  them,  I  do  not  praise  it — the 
exaggerated  thinness  of  body  and  stiffness  of 
attitude  are  faults;  but  they  are  noble  faults, 
and  give  the  statues  a  strange  look  of  forming 
part  of  the  very  building  itself,  and  sustaining 
it — not  like  the  Greek  caryatid,  without  effort 
— nor  like  the  Renaissance  caryatid,  by  painful 
or  impossible  effort — but  as  if  all  that  was 
silent,  and  stern,  and  withdrawn  apart,  and 
stiffened  in  chill  of  heart  against  the  terror  of 
earth,  had  passed  into  a  shape  of  eternal 
marble ;  and  thus  the  Ghost  had  given,  to  bear 
up  the  pillars  of  the  church  on  earth,  all  the 
patient  and  expectant  nature  that  it  needed  no 
more  in  heaven.  This  is  the  transcendental 
view  of  the  meaning  of  those  sculptures.  I 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  35 

do  not  dwell  upon  it.  What  I  do  lean  upon 
is  their  purely  naturalistic  and  vital  power. 
They  are  all  portraits — unknown,  most  of  them, 
I  believe, — but  palpably  and  unmistakably 
portraits,  if  not  taken  from  the  actual  person 
for  whom  the  statue  stands,  at  all  events 
studied  from  some  living  person  whose  features 
might  fairly  represent  those  of  the  king  or 
saint  intended.  Several  of  them  I  suppose  to 
be  authentic ;  there  is  one  of  a  queen,  who  has 
evidently,  while  she  lived,  been  notable  for  her 
bright  black  eyes.  The  sculptor  has  cut  the 
iris  deep  into  the  stone,  and  her  dark  eyes 
are  still  suggested  with  her  smile. 

35.  There  is  another  thing  I  wish  you  to 
notice  especially  in  these  statues — the  way  in 
which  the  floral  moulding  is  associated  with 
the  vertical  lines  of  the  figure.  You  have  thus 
the  utmost  complexity  and  richness  of  curva- 
ture set  side  by  side  with  the  pure  and  deli- 
cate parallel  lines,  and  both  the  characters  gain 
in  interest  and  beauty;  but  there  is  deeper 
significance  in  the  thing  than  that  of  mere 
effect  in  composition ; — significance  not  intended 
on  the  part  of  the  sculptor,  but  all  the  more 
valuable  because  unintentional.  I  mean  the 


36  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

close  association  of  the  beauty  of  lower  nature 
in  animals  and  flowers,  with  the  beauty  of 
higher  nature  in  human  form.  You  never  get 
this  in  Greek  work.  Greek  statues  are  always 
isolated ;  blank  fields  of  stone,  or  depths  of 
shadow,  relieving  the  form  of  the  statue,  as  the 
world  of  lower  nature  which  they  despised 
retired  in  darkness  from  their  hearts.  Here, 
the  clothed  figure  seems  the  type  of  the 
Christian  spirit — in  many  respects  feebler  and 
more  contracted — but  purer;  clothed  in  its 
white  robes  and  crown,  and  with  the  riches  of 
all  creation  at  its  side. 

36.  The  next  step  in  the  change  will  be  set 
before  you  in  a  moment,  merely  by  comparing 
this  statue  from  the  west  front  of  Chartres 
with  that  of  the  Madonna,  from  the  south 
transept  door  of  Amiens.* 

This  Madonna,  with  the  sculpture  round  her, 
represents  the  culminating  power  of  Gothic  art 
in  the  thirteenth  century.  Sculpture  has  been 
gaining  continually  in  the  interval;  gaining, 
simply  because  becoming  every  day  more 

*  There  are  many  photographs  of  this  door  and  of  its 
central  statue.  Its  sculpture  in  the  tympanum  is  farther 
described  in  the  Fourth  Lecture. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  37 

truthful,  more  tender,  and  more  suggestive. 
By  the  way,  the  old  Douglas  motto,  "  Tender 
and  true,"  may  wisely  be  taken  up  again  by  all 
of  us,  for  our  own,  in  art  no  less  than  in  other 
things.  Depend  upon  it,  the  first  universal 
characteristic  of  all  great  art  is  Tenderness, 
as  the  second  is  Truth.  I  find  this  more  and 
more  every  day :  an  infinitude  of  tenderness  is 
the  chief  gift  and  inheritance  of  all  the  truly 
great  men.  It  is  sure  to  involve  a  relative 
intensity  of  disdain  towards  base  things,  and 
an  appearance  of  sternness  and  arrogance  in 
the  eyes  of  all  hard,  stupid,  and  vulgar  people 
—quite  terrific  to  such,  if  they  are  capable  of 
terror,  and  hateful  to  them,  if  they  are  capable 
of  nothing  higher  than  hatred.  Dante's  is  the 
great  type  of  this  class  of  mind.  I  say  the 
first  inheritance  is  Tenderness — the  second 
Truth,  because  the  Tenderness  is  in  the  make 
of  the  creature,  the  Truth  in  his  acquired  habits 
and  knowledge :  besides,  the  love  comes  first 
in  dignity  as  well  as  in  time,  and  that  is 
always  pure  and  complete :  the  truth,  at  best, 
imperfect. 

37.  To  come  back  to  our  statue.     You  will 
observe  that  the  arrangement  of  this  sculpture 


38  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

is  exactly  the  same  as  at  Chartres — severe 
falling  drapery,  set  off  by  rich  floral  ornament 
at  the  side;  but  the  statue  is  now  completely 
animated ;  it  is  no  longer  fixed  as  an  upright 
pillar,  but  bends  aside  out  of  its  niche,  and 
the  floral  ornament,  instead  of  being  a  con- 
ventional wreath,  is  of  exquisitely  arranged 
hawthorn.  The  work,  however,  as  a  whole, 
though  perfectly  characteristic  of  the  advance 
of  the  age  in  style  and  purpose,  is  in  some 
subtler  qualities  inferior  to  that  of  Chartres. 
The  individual  sculptor,  though  trained  in  a 
more  advanced  school,  has  been  himself  a  man 
of  inferior  order  of  mind  compared  to  the 
one  who  worked  at  Chartres.  But  I  have 
not  time  to  point  out  to  you  the  subtler 
characters  by  which  I  know  this. 

38.  This  statue,  then,  marks  the  culminating 
point  of  Gothic  art,  because,  up  to  this  time, 
the  eyes  of  its  designers  had  been  steadily 
fixed  on  natural  truth — they  had  been  advanc- 
ing from  flower  to  flower,  from  form  to  form, 
from  face  to  face, — gaining  perpetually  in 
knowledge  and  veracity — therefore,  perpetually 
in  power  and  in  grace.  But  at  this  point 
a  fatal  change  came  over  their  aim.  From 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  39 

the  statue  they  now  began  to  turn  the 
attention  chiefly  to  the  niche  of  the  statue, 
and  from  the  floral  ornament  to  the  mouldings 
that  enclosed  the  floral  ornament.  The  first 
result  of  this  was,  however,  though  not  the 
grandest,  yet  the  most  finished  of  northern 
genius.  You  have,  in  the  earlier  Gothic,  less 
wonderful  construction,  less  careful  masonry, 
far  less  expression  of  harmony  of  parts  in  the 
balance  of  the  building.  Earlier  work  always 
has  more  or  less  of  the  character  of  a  good 
solid  wall  with  irregular  holes  in  it,  well  carved 
wherever  there  was  room.  But  the  last 
phase  of  good  Gothic  has  no  room  to  spare ; 
it  rises  as  high  as  it  can  on  narrowest 
foundation,  stands  in  perfect  strength  with 
the  least  possible  substance  in  its  bars ;  con- 
nects niche  with  niche,  and  line  with  line, 
in  an  exquisite  harmony,  from  which  no  stone 
can  be  removed,  and  to  which  you  can  add 
not  a  pinnacle;  and  yet  introduces  in  rich, 
though  now  more  calculated  profusion,  the 
living  element  of  its  sculpture :  sculpture  in 
the  quatrefoils — sculpture  in  the  brackets — 
sculpture  in  the  gargoyles — sculpture  in  the 
niches — sculpture  in  the  ridges  and  hollows 


4O  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

of  its  mouldings, — not  a  shadow  without 
meaning,  and  not  a  light  without  life.*  But 
with  this  very  perfection  of  his  work  came 
the  unhappy  pride  of  the  builder  in  what  he 
had  done.  As  long  as  he  had  been  merely 
raising  clumsy  walls  and  carving  them,  like 
a  child,  in  waywardness  of  fancy,  his  delight 
was  in  the  things  he  thought  of  as  he 
carved;  but  when  he  had  once  reached  this 
pitch  of  constructive  science,  he  began  to 
think  only  how  cleverly  he  could  put  the 
stones  together.  The  question  was  not  now 
with  him,  What  can  I  represent?  but,  How 
high  can  I  build — how  wonderfully  can  I 
hang  this  arch  in  air,  or  weave  this  tracery 
across  the  clouds  ?  And  the  catastrophe  was 
instant  and  irrevocable.  Architecture  became 
in  France  a  mere  web  of  waving  lines, — in 
England  a  mere  grating  of  perpendicular 
ones.  Redundance  was  substituted  for  in- 
vention, and  geometry  for  passion ;  the  Gothic 

*  The  two  transepts  of  Rouen  Cathedral  illustrate  this  style. 
There  are  plenty  of  photographs  of  them.  I  take  this 
opportunity  of  repeating  what  I  have  several  times  before 
stated,  for  the  sake  of  travellers,  that  St.  Ouen,  impressive 
as  it  is,  is  entirely  inferior  to  the  transepts  of  Rouen 
Cathedral. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  41 

art  became  a  mere  expression  of  wanton 
expenditure,  and  vulgar  mathematics;  and 
was  swept  away,  as  it  then  deserved  to  be 
swept  away,  by  the  severer  pride,  and  purer 
learning,  of  the  schools  founded  on  classical 
traditions. 

39.  You  cannot  now  fail  to  see  how, 
throughout  the  history  of  this  wonderful  art 
— from  its  earliest  dawn  in  Lombarcly  to  its 
last  catastrophe  in  France  and  England — 
sculpture,  founded  on  love  of  nature,  was  the 
talisman  of  its  existence;  wherever  sculpture 
was  practised,  architecture  arose — wherever 
that  was  neglected,  architecture  expired;  and, 
believe  me,  all  you  students  who  love  this 
mediaeval  art,  there  is  no  hope  of  your  ever 
doing  any  good  with  it,  but  on  this  everlasting 
principle.  Your  patriotic  associations  with  it 
are  of  no  use;  your  romantic  associations 
with  it — either  of  chivalry  or  religion — are 
of  no  use;  they  are  worse  than  useless,  they 
are  false.  Gothic  is  not  an  art  for  knights 
and  nobles;  it  is  an  art  for  the  people;  it 
is  not  an  art  for  churches  or  sanctuaries;  it 
is  an  art  for  houses  and  homes;  it  is  not  an 
art  for  England  only,  but  an  art  for  the 


42  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

world:  above  all,  it  is  not  an  art  of  form  or 
tradition  only,  but  an  art  of  vital  practice 
and  perpetual  renewal.  And  whosoever  pleads 
for  it  as  an  ancient  or  a  formal  thing,  and 
tries  to  teach  it  you  as  an  ecclesiastical  tradi- 
tion or  a  geometrical  science,  knows  nothing 
of  its  essence,  less  than  nothing  of  its  power. 

40.  Leave,    therefore,    boldly,    though    not 
irreverently,  mysticism  and  symbolism  on  the 
one    side;    cast   away  with   utter   scorn    geo- 
metry and  legalism  on  the  other;    seize  hold 
of  God's  hand,  and  look   full  in  the  face  of 
His  creation,   and  there  is    nothing    He   will 
not  enable  you  to  achieve. 

41.  Thus,  then,  you  will  find — and  the  more 
profound  and  accurate  your  knowledge  of  the 
history   of  art  the   more   assuredly   you  will 
find — that   the   living   power   in    all   the    real 
schools,   be   they   great    or   small,  is   love   of 
nature.     But  do  not  mistake  me  by  supposing 
that  I  mean  this  law  to  be  all  that  is  necessary 
to  form  a  school.     There  needs  to    be   much 
superadded  to  it,  though  there  never  must  be 
anything    superseding    it.      The    main    thing 
which  needs  to  be  superadded  is  the  gift  of 
design. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  43 

42.  It  is  always  dangerous,   and  liable  to 
diminish    the   clearness   of  impression,   to  go 
over  much  ground  in  the  course  of  one  lecture. 
But   I   dare  not  present  you  with  a  maimed 
view  of  this  important  subject :  I  dare  not  put 
off  to  another  time,  when  the  same  persons 
would  not  be  again  assembled,  the  statement 
of  the  great  collateral  necessity  which,  as  well 
as  the  necessity  of  truth,   governs  all  noble 
art. 

That  collateral  necessity  is  the  visible  opera- 
tion of  human  intellect  in  tJie  presentation  of 
truth,  the  evidence  of  what  is  properly  called 
design  or  plan  in  the  work,  no  less  than  of 
veracity.  A  looking-glass  does  not  design — 
it  receives  and  communicates  indiscriminately 
all  that  passes  before  it ;  a  painter  designs 
when  he  chooses  some  things,  refuses  others, 
and  arranges  all. 

43.  This    selection    and    arrangement   must 
have  influence  over   everything   that    the  art 
is  concerned  with,  great  or  small — over  lines, 
over  colours,  and  over  ideas.     Given  a  certain 
group  of  colours,   by   adding  another   colour 
at  the  side  of  them,  you  will  either  improve 
the  group   and  render  it  more  delightful,  or 


44  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

injure  it,  and  render  it  discordant  and  un- 
intelligible. "  Design "  is  the  choosing  and 
placing  the  colour  so  as  to  help  and  enhance 
all  the  other  colours  it  is  set  beside.  So  of 
thoughts :  in  a  good  composition,  every  idea 
is  presented  in  just  that  order,  and  with  just 
that  force,  which  will  perfectly  connect  it 
with  all  the  other  thoughts  in  the  work,  and 
will  illustrate  the  others  as  well  as  receive 
illustration  from  them;  so  that  the  entire 
chain  of  thoughts  offered  to  the  beholder's 
mind  shall  be  received  by  him  with  as  much 
delight  and  with  as  little  effort  as  is  possible. 
And  thus  you  see  design,  properly  so  called, 
is  human  invention,  consulting  human  capa- 
city. Out  of  the  infinite  heap  of  things  around 
us  in  the  world,  it  chooses  a  certain  number 
which  it  can  thoroughly  grasp,  and  presents 
this  group  to  the  spectator  in  the  form  best 
calculated  to  enable  him  to  grasp  it  also,  and 
to  grasp  it  with  delight. 

44.  And  accordingly,  the  capacities  of  both 
gatherer  and  receiver  being  limited,  the  object 
is  to  make  everything  that  you  offer  helpful 
aud precious.  If  you  give  one  grain  of  weight 
too  much,  so  as  to  increase  fatigue  without 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  45 

profit,  or  bulk  without  value — that  added  grain 
is  hurtful :  if  you  put  one  spot  or  one  syllable 
out  of  its  proper  place,  that  spot  or  syllable 
will  be  destructive — how  far  destructive  it  is 
almost  impossible  to  tell :  a  misplaced  touch 
may  sometimes  annihilate  the  labour  of  hours. 
Nor  are  any  of  us  prepared  to  understand 
the  work  of  any  great  master,  till  we  feel 
this,  and  feel  it  as  distinctly  as  we  do  the 
value  of  arrangement  in  the  notes  of  music. 
Take  any  noble  musical  air,  and  you  find, 
on  examining  it,  that  not  one  even  of  the 
faintest  or  shortest  notes  can  be  removed 
without  destruction  to  the  whole  passage  in 
which  it  occurs;  and  that  every  note  in  the 
passage  is  twenty  times  more  beautiful  so 
introduced,  than  it  would  have  been  if  played 
singly  on  the  instrument.  Precisely  this 
degree  of  arrangement  and  relation  must 
exist  between  every  touch*  and  line  in  a 
great  picture.  You  may  consider  the  whole 
as  a  prolonged  musical  composition :  its  parts, 
as  separate  airs  connected  in  the  story;  its 

*  Literally.  I  know  how  exaggerated  this  statement 
sounds  ;  but  I  mean  it, — every  syllable  of  it  See  Ap- 
pendix IV. 


46  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

little  bits  and  fragments  of  colour  and  line, 
as  separate  passages  or  bars  in  melodies; 
and  down  to  the  minutest  note  of  the  whole 
— down  to  the  minutest  toudi, — if  there  is  one 
that  can  be  spared — that  one  is  doing  mischief. 
45.  Remember  therefore  always,  you  have 
two  characters  in  which  all  greatness  of  art 
consists : — First,  the  earnest  and  intense  seiz- 
ing of  natural  facts:  then  the  ordering  those 
facts  by  strength  of  human  intellect,  so  as 
to  make  them,  for  all  who  look  upon  them, 
to  the  utmost  serviceable,  memorable,  and 
beautiful.  And  thus  great  art  is  nothing  else 
than  the  type  of  strong  and  noble  life ;  for, 
as  the  ignoble  person,  in  his  dealings  with  all 
that  occurs  in  the  world  about  him,  first  sees 
nothing  clearly, — looks  nothing  fairly  in  the 
face,  and  then  allows  himself  to  be  swept 
away  by  the  trampling  torrent,  and  unes- 
capable  force,  of  the  things  that  he  would 
not  foresee,  and  could  not  understand :  so  the 
noble  person,  looking  the  facts  of  the  world 
full  in  the  face,  and  fathoming  them  with 
deep  faculty,  then  deals  with  them  in  un- 
alarmed  intelligence  and  unhurried  strength, 
and  becomes,  with  his  human  intellect  and 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  4/ 

will,  no  unconscious  nor  insignificant  agent 
in  consummating  their  good;  and  restraining 
their  evil. 

46.  Thus  in  human  life  you  have  the  two 
fields  of  rightful   toil   for   ever   distinguished, 
yet  for  ever  associated ;  Truth  first — plan,  or 
design,  founded  thereon  :   so  in  art,  you  have 
the    same   two    fields    for   ever   distinguished, 
for    ever    associated;     Truth    first — plan,    or 
design,  founded  thereon. 

47.  Now   hitherto   there    is   not    the   least 
difficulty   in   the    subject;    none   of  you    can 
look  for  a  moment  at  any  great  sculptor  or 
painter    without    seeing    the    full    bearing    of 
these  principles.     But  a  difficulty  arises  when 
you    come    to    examine    the    art    of   a    lower 
order,  concerned  with  furniture  and  manufac- 
ture,  for   in    that  art    the    element   of  design 
enters    without,    apparently,    the    element    of 
truth.     You  have  often  to  obtain  beauty  and 
display  invention  without  direct  representation 
of  nature.      Yet,   respecting   all   these   things 
also,  the  principle  is  perfectly  simple.     If  the 
designer  of  furniture,   of  cups  and  vases,  of 
dress  patterns,  and  the  like,  exercises  himself 
continually  in    the   imitation   of  natural   form 


48  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

in  some  leading  division  of  his  work;  then, 
holding  by  this  stem  of  life,  he  may  pass 
down  into  all  kinds  of  merely  geometrical 
or  formal  design  with  perfect  safety,  and 
with  noble  results.*  Thus  Giotto,  being 
primarily  a  figure  painter  and  sculptor,  is, 
secondarily,  the  richest  of  all  designers  in 
mere  mosaic  of  coloured  bars  and  triangles; 
thus  Benvenuto  Cellini,  being  in  all  the  higher 
branches  of  metal-work  a  perfect  imitator  of 
nature,  is  in  all  its  lower  branches  the  best 
designer  of  curve  for  lips  of  cups  and  handles 
of  vases;  thus  Holbein,  exercised  primarily 
in  the  noble  art  of  truthful  portraiture,  be- 
comes, secondarily,  the  most  exquisite  designer 
of  embroideries  of  robe,  and  blazonries  on 
walls;  and  thus  Michael  Angelo,  exercised 
primarily  in  the  drawing  of  body  and  limb, 
distributes  in  the  mightiest  masses  the  order 
of  his  pillars,  and  in  the  loftiest  shadow  the 
hollows  of  his  dome.  But  once  quit  hold  of 
this  living  stem,  and  set  yourself  to  the 
designing  of  ornamentation,  either  in  the 
ignorant  play  of  your  own  heartless  fancy, 

*  This  principle,  here  cursorily  stated,  is  one  of  the  chief 
subjects  of  inquiry  in  the  following  Lectures. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  49 

as  the  Indian  does,  or  according  to  received 
application  of  heartless  laws,  as  the  modern 
European  does,  and  there  is  but  one  word 
for  you — Death  : — death  of  every  healthy 
faculty,  and  of  every  noble  intelligence,  in- 
capacity of  understanding  one  great  work  that 
man  has  ever  done,  or  of  doing  anything 
that  it  shall  be  helpful  for  him  to  behold. 
You  have  cut  yourselves  off  voluntarily,  pre- 
sumptuously, insolently,  from  the  whole  teach- 
ing of  your  Maker  in  His  universe ;  you  have 
cut  yourself  off  from  it,  not  because  you  were 
forced  to  mechanical  labour  for  your  bread — 
not  because  your  fate  had  appointed  you  to 
wear  away  your  life  in  walled  chambers,  or 
dig  your  life  out  of  dusty  furrows ;  but,  when 
your  whole  profession,  your  whole  occupa- 
tion— all  the  necessities  and  chances  of  your 
existence,  led  you  straight  to  the  feet  of  the 
great  Teacher,  and  thrust  you  into  the  trea- 
sury of  His  works;  where  you  have  nothing 
to  do  but  to  live  by  gazing,  and  to  grow  by 
wondering; — wilfully  you  bind  up  your  eyes 
from  the  splendour — wilfully  bind  up  your 
life-blood  from  its  beating — wilfully  turn  your 
backs  upon  all  the  majesties  of  Omnipotence — 


DETERIORATIVE   POWER    OF 


\ 


wilfully  snatch  your  hands  from  all  the  aid: 
f  love;  and  what  can  remain  for  you,  bu 
helplessness  and  blindness, — except  the  wors< 
fate  than  the  being  blind  yourselves — that  o 
becoming  Leaders  of  the  blind  ? 

48.  Do  not  think  that  I  am  speaking  unde 
excited  feeling,  or  in  any  exaggerated   terms 
I  have  written  the  words  I  use,  that  I  ma; 
know  what  I  say,  and  that  you,  if  you  choose 
may  see   what    I    have   said.     For,   indeed, 
have  set  before  you  to-night,  to  the  best  o 
my   power,    the    sum   and    substance   of    th 
system  of  art  to   the  promulgation  of  whid 
I  have  devoted  my  life  hitherto,   and  intem 
to  devote  what  of  life  may  still  be  spared  t« 
me.     I  have  had  but  one  steady  aim  in  all  tha 
I  have  ever  tried  to  teach,  namely — to  declar 
that  whatever  was  great  in  human  art  was  th 
expression  of  man's  delight  in  God's  work. 

49.  And  at  this  time   I   have  endeavourei 
to  prove  to  you — if  you  investigate  the  subjec 
you   may  more   entirely  prove   to   yourselve 
— that    no    school    ever    advanced    far    whic 
had  not  the  love  of  natural  fact  as   a  prime 
energy.     But    it    is    still   more   important   fo 
you  to  be  assured  that  the  conditions  of  lif 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  5  I 

and  death  in  the  heart  of  nations  are  also  the 
conditions  of  life  and  death  in  your  own; 
and  that  you  have  it,  each  in  his  power  at 
this  very  instant,  to  determine  in  which 
direction  his  steps  are  turning.  It  seems 
almost  a  terrible  thing  to  tell  you,  that  all 
here  have  all  the  power  of  knowing  at  once 
what  hope  there  is  for  them  as  artists;  you 
would,  perhaps,  like  better  that  there  was 
some  unremovable  doubt  about  the  chances 
of  the  future — some  possibility  that  you  might 
be  advancing,  in  unconscious  ways,  towards 
unexpected  successes — some  excuse  or  reason 
for  going  about,  as  students  do  so  often,  to 
this  master  or  the  other,  asking  him  if  they 
have  genius,  and  whether  they  are  doing 
right,  and  gathering,  from  his  careless  or 
formal  replies,  vague  flashes  of  encourage- 
ment, or  fitfulnesses  of  despair.  There  is 
no  need  for  this — no  excuse  for  it.  All  of 
you  have  the  trial  of  yourselves  in  your 
own  power;  each  may  undergo  at  this  in- 
stant, before  his  own  judgment  seat,  the 
ordeal  by  fire.  Ask  yourselves  what  is  the 
leading  motive  which  actuates  you  while  you 
are  at  work.  I  do  not  ask  you  what  your 


52  DETERIORATIVE    POWER    OF 

leading  motive  is  for  working — that  is  a 
different  thing;  you  may  have  families  to 
support — parents  to  help — brides  to  win;  you 
may  have  all  these,  or  other  such  sacred  and 
pre-eminent  motives,  to  press  the  morning's 
labour  and  prompt  the  twilight  thought.  But 
when  you  are  fairly  at  the  work,  what  is  the 
motive  then  which  tells  upon  every  touch  of 
it  ?  If  it  is  the  love  of  that  which  your 
work  represents — if,  being  a  landscape  painter, 
it  is  love  of  hills  and  trees  that  moves  you — 
if,  being  a  figure  painter,  it  is  love  of  human 
beauty  and  human  soul  that  moves  you — if, 
being  a  flower  or  animal  painter,  it  is  love, 
and  wonder,  and  delight  in  petal  and  in  limb 
that  move  you,  then  the  Spirit  is  upon  you, 
and  the  earth  is  yours,  and  the  fulness  thereof. 
But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  it  is  petty  self- 
complacency  in  your  own  skill,  trust  in  pre- 
cepts and  laws,  hope  for  academical  or  popular 
approbation,  or  avarice  of  wealth, — it  is  quite 
possible  that  by  steady  industry,  or  even  by 
fortunate  chance,  you  may  win  the  applause, 
the  position,  the  fortune,  that  you  desire;  but 
one  touch  of  true  art  you  will  never  lay  on 
canvas  or  on  stone  as  long  as  you  live. 


CONVENTIONAL    ART.  53 

50.  Make,  then,  your  choice,  boldly  and  con- 
sciously,  for   one    way   or   other   it   must  be 
made.     On  the  dark  and  dangerous  side  are 
set   the  pride  which   delights  in   self-contem- 
plation— the  indolence  which  rests  in  unques- 
tioned forms— the  ignorance  that  despises  what 
is    fairest    among    God's    creatures,    and    the 
dulness    that    denies    what    is    marvellous    in 
His   working:    there   is   a   life    of   monotony 
for   your   own    souls,  and   of  misguiding   for 
those  of  others.     And,   on  the  other  side,  is 
open  to  your  choice  the   life  of  the  crowned 
spirit,    moving    as    a    light    in    creation— dis- 
covering always— illuminating  always,  gaining 
every  hour  in  strength,  yet  bowed  down  every 
hour  into  deeper  humility ;  sure  of  being  right 
in  its  aim,  sure  of  being  irresistible  in  its  pro- 
gress;   happy  in  what    it    has   securely  done 
—happier   in    what,   day   by    day,  it    may    as 
securely  hope;    happiest  at  the  close  of  life, 
when    the    right    hand    begins    to    forget    its 
cunning,  to  remember,   that  there  was  never 
a  touch  of  the  chisel  or  the  pencil  it  wielded, 
but  has  added  to   the  knowledge  and  quick- 
ened the  happiness  of  mankind. 


LECTURE  II. 

THE    UNITY    OF   ART. 

Part  of  an  Address  *  delivered  at  Manchester \ 
February  22nd,  1859. 

51.  IT  is  sometimes  my  pleasant  duty  to  visit 
other  cities,  in  the  hope  of  being  able  to 
encourage  their  art  students ;  but  here  it  is 
my  pleasanter  privilege  to  come  for  encourage- 
ment myself.  I  do  not  know  when  I  have 

*  I  was  prevented,  by  press  of  other  engagements,  from 
preparing  this  address  with  the  care  I  wished ;  and  forced 
to  trust  to  such  expression  as  I  could  give  at  the  moment 
to  the  points  of  principal  importance  ;  reading,  however, 
the  close  of  the  preceding  lecture,  which  I  thought  con- 
tained some  truths  that  would  bear  repetition.  The  whole 
was  reported,  better  than  it  deserved,  by  Mr.  Pitman,  of 
the  Manchester  Courier,  and  published  nearly  verbatim. 
I  have  here  extracted,  from  the  published  report,  the  facts 
which  I  wish  especially  to  enforce ;  and  have  a  little  cleared 
their  expression ;  its  loose  and  colloquial  character  I  cannot 
now  help,  unless  by  re-writing  the  whole,  which  it  seems 
not  worth  while  to  do. 

54 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  55 

received  so  much  as  from  the  report  read  this 
evening  by  Mr.  Hammersley,  bearing  upon  a 
subject  which  has  caused  me  great  anxiety. 
For  I  have  always  felt  in  my  own  pursuit  of 
art,  and  in  my  endeavours  to  urge  the  pursuit 
of  art  on  others,  that  while  there  are  many 
advantages  now  that  never  existed  before, 
there  are  certain  grievous-  difficulties  existing, 
just  in  the  very  cause  that  is  giving  the 
stimulus  to  art — in  the  immense  spread  of 
the  manufactures  of  every  country  which  is 
now  attending  vigorously  to  art.  We  find 
that  manufacture  and  art  are  now  going  on 
always  together ;  that  where  there  is  no  manu- 
facture there  is  no  art.  I  know  how  much 
there  is  of  pretended  art  where  there  is  no 
manufacture :  there  is  much  in  Italy,  for  in- 
stance; no  country  makes  so  bold  pretence 
to  the  production  of  new  art  as  Italy  at  this 
moment;  yet  no  country  produces  so  little. 
If  you  glance  over  the  map  of  Europe,  you 
will  find  that  where  the  manufactures  are 
strongest,  there  art  also  is  strongest.  And  yet 
I  always  felt  that  there  was  an  immense  diffi- 
culty to  be  encountered  by  the  students  who 
were  in  these  centres  of  modern  movement. 


56  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

They  had  to  avoid  the  notion  that  art  and 
manufacture  were  in  any  respect  one.  |Art 
may  be  healthily  associated  with  manufac- 
ture, and  probably  in  future  will  always  be 
so;  but  the  student  must  be  strenuously 
warned  against  supposing  that  they  can  ever 
be  one  and  the  same  thing,  that  art  can  ever 
be  followed  on  the  principles  of  manufacture. 
Each  must  be  followed  separately;  the  one 
must  influence  the  other,  but  each  must  be 
kept  distinctly  separate  from  the  other. 

52.  It  would  be  well  if  all  students  would 
keep  clearly  in  their  mind  the  real  distinction 
between  those  words  which  we  use  so  often, 
"Manufacture,"     "Art,"     and     "Fine     Art." 
MANUFACTURE  is,  according  to  the  etymology 
and  right  use  of  the  word,  "  the  making  of 
anything    by    hands," — directly   or   indirectly, 
with  or  without  the  help  of  instruments  or 
machines.     Anything     proceeding     from     the 
hand  of  man  is  manufacture ;  but  it  must  have 
proceeded  from  his  hand  only,  acting  mechan- 
ically,  and    uninfluenced    at   the   moment   by 
direct  intelligence. 

53.  Then,  secondly,  ART  is  the  operation  of 
the  hand  and  the  intelligence  of  man  together : 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  57 

there  is  an  art  of  making  machinery ;  there  is 
an  art  of  building  ships;  an  art  of  making 
carriages;  and  so  on.  All  these,  properly 
called  Arts,  but  not  Fine  Arts,  are  pursuits  in 
which  the  hand  of  man  and  his  head  go  to- 
gether, working  at  the  same  instant. 

54.  Then   FINE  ART  is  that  in  which  the 
hand,  the  head,  and  the  heart  of  man  go  to- 
gether. 

55.  Recollect  this  triple  group;  it  will  help 
you   to   solve  many  difficult  problems.     And 
remember  that  though  the  hand  must  be  at  the 
bottom  of  everything,  it  must  also  go  to  the 
top  of  everything ;  for  Fine  Art  must  be  pro- 
duced by  the  hand  of  man  in  a  much  greater 
and  clearer  sense  than  Manufacture  is.     Fine 
Art  must  always  be  produced  by  the  subtlest 
of  all  machines,  which    is   the   human  hand. 
No  machine  yet  contrived,  or  hereafter  con- 
trivable,  will  ever  equal  the  fine  machinery  of 
the  human  fingers.     Thoroughly  perfect  art  is 
that   which    proceeds   from   the   heart,   which 
involves   all  the   noble   emotions; — associates 
with  these  the  head,  yet   as  inferior   to   the 
heart ;  and  the  hand,  yet  as  inferior  to  the  heart 
and  head ;  and  thus  brings  out  the  whole  man. 


58  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

56.  Hence  it  follows  that  since  Manufacture 
is  simply  the  operation  of  the  hand  of  man 
in  producing  that  which  is  useful  to  him,  it 
essentially  separates  itself  from  the  emotions ; 
when  emotions  interfere  with  machinery  they 
spoil  it :  machinery  must  go  evenly,  without 
emotion.  But  the  Fine  Arts  cannot  go  evenly ; 
they  always  must  have  emotion  ruling  their 
mechanism,  and  until  the  pupil  begins  to  feel, 
and  until  all  he  does  associates  itself  with 
the  current  of  his  feeling,  he  is  not  an  artist. 
But  pupils  in  all  the  schools  in  this  country 
are  now  exposed  to  all  kinds  of  temptations 
which  blunt  their  feelings.  I  constantly  feel 
discouraged  in  addressing  them,  because  I 
know  not  how  to  tell  them  boldly  what  they 
ought  to  do,  when  I  feel  how  practically  diffi- 
cult it  is  for  them  to  do  it.  There  are  all  sorts 
of  demands  made  upon  them  in  every  direction, 
and  money  is  to  be  made  in  every  conceivable 
way  but  the  right  way.  If  you  paint  as  you 
ought,  and  study  as  you  ought,  depend  upon  it 
the  public  will  take  no  notice  of  you  for  a  long 
while.  If  you  study  wrongly,  and  try  to  draw 
the  attention  of  the  public  upon  you, — sup- 
posing you  to  be  clever  students — you  will  get 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  59 

swift  reward ;  but  the  reward  does  not  come 
fast  when  it  is  sought  wisely;  it  is  always 
held  aloof  for  a  little  while ;  the  right  roads  of 
early  life  are  very  quiet  ones,  hedged  in  from 
nearly  all  help  or  praise.  But  the  wrong 
roads  are  noisy, — vociferous  everywhere  with 
all  kinds  of  demands  upon  you  for  art  which  is 
not  properly  art  at  all ;  and  in  the  various 
meetings  of  modern  interests,  money  is  to  be 
made  in  every  way;  but  art  is  to  be  followed 
only  in  one  way.  That  is  what  I  want  mainly 
to  say  to  you,  or  if  not  to  you  yourselves  (for, 
from  what  I  have  heard  from  your  excellent 
master  to-night,  I  know  you  are  going  on  all 
rightly),  you  must  let  me  say  it  through  you 
to  others.  Our  Schools  of  Art  are  confused 
by  the  various  teaching  and  various  interests 
that  are  now  abroad  among  us.  Everybody 
is  talking  about  art,  and  writing  about  it, 
and  more  or  less  interested  in  it ;  everybody 
wants  art,  and  there  is  not  art  for  everybody, 
and  few  who  talk  know  what  they  are  talking 
about;  thus  students  are  led  in  all  variable 
ways,  while  there  is  only  one  way  in  which 
they  can  make  steady  progress,  for  true  art  is 
always  and  will  be  always  one.  Whatever 


6O  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

changes  may  be  made  in  the  customs  of  so- 
ciety, whatever  new  machines  we  may  invent, 
whatever  new  manufactures  you  may  supply, 
Fine  Art  must  remain  what  it  was  two  thou- 
sand years  ago,  in  the  days  of  Phidias;  two 
thousand  years  hence,  it  will  be,  in  all  its 
principles,  and  in  all  its  great  effects  upon  the 
mind  of  man,  just  the  same.  Observe  this  that 
I  say,  please,  carefully,  for  I  mean  it  to  the 
very  utmost.  There  is  but  one  right  way  of 
doing  any  given  thing  required  of  an  artist  ; 
there  may  be  a  hundred  wrong,  deficient,  or 
mannered  ways,  but  there  is  only  one  complete 
and  right  way.  Whenever  two  artists  are 
trying  to  do  the  same  thing  with  the  same 
materials,  and  do  it  in  different  ways,  one  of 
them  is  wrong ;  he  may  be  charmingly  wrong, 
or  impressively  wrong — various  circumstances 
in  his  temper  may  make  his  wrong  pleasanter 
than  any  person's  right ;  it  may  for  him,  under 
his  given  limitations  of  knowledge  or  temper, 
be  better  perhaps  that  he  should  err  in  his  own 
way  than  try  for  anybody  else's — but  for  all 
that  his  way  is  wrong,  and  it  is  essential  for  all 
masters  of  schools  to  know  what  the  right  way 
is,  and  what  right  art  is,  and  to  see  how  simple 


THE    UNITY   OF   ART.  6 1 

and  how  single  all  right  art  has  been,  since  the 
beginning  of  it. 

57.  But  farther,  not  only  is  there  but  one 
way  of  doing  things  rightly,  but  there  is  only 
one  way  of  seeing  them,  and  that  is,  seeing 
the  whole  of  them,  without  any  choice,  or 
more  intense  perception  of  one  point  than 
another,  owing  to  our  special  idiosyncrasies. 
Thus,  when  Titian  or  Tintoret  look  at  a 
human  being,  they  see  at  a  glance  the  whole 
of  its  nature,  outside  and  in;  all  that  it  has 
of  form,  of  colour,  of  passion,  or  of  thought ; 
saintliness,  and  loveliness;  fleshly  body,  and 
spiritual  power;  grace,  or  strength,  or  soft- 
ness, or  whatsoever  other  quality,  those  men 
will  see  to  the  full,  and  so  paint,  that,  when 
narrower  people  come  to  look  at  what  they 
have  done,  every  one  may,  if  he  chooses,  find 
his  own  special  pleasure  in  the  work.  The 
sensualist  will  find  sensuality  in  Titian ;  the 
thinker  will  find  thought;  the  saint,  sanctity; 
the  colourist,  colour;  the  anatomist,  form; 
and  yet  the  picture  will  never  be  a  popular 
one  in  the  full  sense,  for  none  of  these  nar- 
rower people  will  find  their  special  taste  so 
alone  consulted,  as  that  the  qualities  which 


62  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

would  ensure  their  gratification  shall  be  sifted 
or  separated  from  others;  they  are  checked 
by  the  presence  of  the  other  qualities  which 
ensure  the  gratification  of  other  men.  Thus, 
Titian  is  not  soft  enough  for  the  sensualist, 
Correggio  suits  him  better;  Titian  is  not 
defined  enough  for  the  formalist, — Leonardo 
suits  him  better;  Titian  is  not  pure  enough 
for  the  religionist, — Raphael  suits  him  better; 
Titian  is  not  polite  enough  for  the  man  of 
the  world, — Vandyke  suits  him  better ;  Titian 
is  not  forcible  enough  for  the  lover  of  the  pic- 
turesque,— Rembrandt  suits  him  better.  So 
Correggio  is  popular  with  a  certain  set,  and 
Vandyke  with  a  certain  set,  and  Rembrandt 
with  a  certain  set.  All  are  great  men,  but  of 
inferior  stamp,  and  therefore  Vandyke  is  popu- 
lar, and  Rembrandt  is  popular,*  but  nobody 
cares  much  at  heart  about  Titian ;  only  there 
is  a  strange  undercurrent  of  everlasting  mur- 
mur about  his  name,  which  means  the  deep 
consent  of  all  great  men  that  he  is  greater 
than  they — the  consent  of  those  who,  having 

*  And  Murillo,  of  all  true  painters  the  narrowest, 
feeblest,  and  most  superficial,  for  those  reasons  the  most 
popular. 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  63 

sat  long  enough  at  his  feet,  have  found  in  that 
restrained  harmony  of  his  strength  there  are 
indeed  depths  of  each  balanced  power  more 
wonderful  than  all  those  separate  manifesta- 
tions in  inferior  painters ;  that  there  is  a  soft- 
ness more  exquisite  than  Correggio's,  a  purity 
loftier  than  Leonardo's,  a  force  mightier  than 
Rembrandt's,  a  sanctity  more  solemn  even  than 
Raphael's. 

58.  Do  not  suppose  that  in  saying  this  of 
Titian,  I  am  returning  to  the  old  eclectic 
theories  of  Bologna;  for  all  those  eclectic 
theories,  observe,  were  based,  not  upon  an 
endeavour  to  unite  the  various  characters  of 
nature  (which  it  is  possible  to  do),  but  the 
various  narrownesses  of  taste,  which  it  is 
impossible  to  do.  Rubens  is  not  more  vigor- 
ous than  Titian,  but  less  vigorous  ;  but  because 
he  is  so  narrow-minded  as  to  enjoy  vigour 
only,  he  refuses  to  give  the  other  qualities  of 
nature,  which  would  interfere  with  that  vigour 
and  with  our  perception  of  it.  Again,  Rem- 
brandt is  not  a  greater  master  of  chiaroscuro 
than  Titian ; — he  is  a  less  master,  but  because 
he  is  so  narrow-minded  as  to  enjoy  chiaroscuro 
only,  he  withdraws  from  you  the  splendour 


64  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

of  hue  which  would  interfere  with  this,  and 
gives  you  only  the  shadow  in  which  you  can 
at  once  feel  it.  Now  all  these  specialties  have 
their  own  charm  in  their  own  way ;  and  there 
are  times  when  the  particular  humour  of  each 
man  is  refreshing  to  us  from  its  very  distinct- 
ness ;  but  the  effort  to  add  any  other  qualities 
to  this  refreshing  one  instantly  takes  away 
the  distinctiveness ;  and  therefore  the  exact 
character  to  be  enjoyed  in  its  appeal  to  a 
particular  humour  in  us.  Our  enjoyment 
arose  from  a  weakness  meeting  a  weakness, 
from  a  partiality  in  the  painter  fitting  to  a 
partiality  in  us,  and  giving  us  sugar  when  we 
wanted  sugar,  and  myrrh  when  we  wanted 
myrrh ;  but  sugar  and  myrrh  are  not  meat : 
and  when  we  want  meat  and  bread,  we  must 
go  to  better  men. 

59.  The  eclectic  schools  endeavoured  to  unite 
these  opposite  partialities  and  weaknesses. 
They  trained  themselves  under  masters  of  ex- 
aggeration, and  tried  to  unite  opposite  exag- 
gerations. That  was  impossible.  They  did 
not  see  that  the  only  possible  eclecticism  had 
been  already  accomplished ; — the  eclecticism 
of  temperance,  which,  by  the  restraint  of  force, 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  6$ 

gains  higher  force;  and  by  the  self-denial  of 
delight,  gains  higher  delight.  This  you  will 
find  is  ultimately  the  case  with  every  true  and 
right  master;  at  first,  while  we  are  tyros  in 
art,  or  before  we  have  earnestly  studied  the 
man  in  question,  we  shall  see  little  in  him  ; 
or  perhaps  see,  as  we  think,  deficiencies;  we 
shall  fancy  he  is  inferior  to  this  man  in  that, 
and  to  the  other  man  in  the  other;  but  as  we 
go  on  studying  him  we  shall  find  that  he  has 
got  both  that  and  the  other;  and  both  in  a 
far  higher  sense  than  the  man  who  seemed 
to  possess  those  qualities  in  excess.  Thus  in 
Turner's  lifetime,  when  people  first  looked  at 
him,  those  who  liked  rainy  weather,  said  he 
was  not  equal  to  Copley  Fielding;  but  those 
who  looked  at  Turner  long  enough  found  that 
he  could  be  much  more  wet  than  Copley 
Fielding,  when  he  chose.  The  people  who 
liked  force,  said  that  "  Turner  was  not  strong 
enough  for  them;  he  was  effeminate;  they 
liked  De  Wint, — nice  strong  tone; — or  Cox 
— great,  greeny,  dark  masses  of  colour — 
solemn  feeling  of  the  freshness  and  depth  of 
nature; — they  liked  Cox — Turner  was  too 
hot  for  them,"  Had  they  looked  long  enough 


66  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

they  would  have  found  that  he  had  far  more 
force  than  De  Wint,  far  more  freshness  than 
Cox  when  he  chose, — only  united  with  other 
elements;  and  that  he  didn't  choose  to  be 
cool,  if  nature  had  appointed  the  weather  to 
be  hot.  The  people  who  liked  Prout  said 
"Turner  had  not  firmness  of  hand — he  did 
not  know  enough  about  architecture — he  was 
not  picturesque  enough."  Had  they  looked  at 
his  architecture  long,  they  would  have  found 
that  it  contained  subtle  picturesqueness,  in- 
finitely more  picturesque  than  anything  of 
Prout's.  People  who  liked  Callcott  said  that 
"Turner  was  not  correct  or  pure  enough — 
had  no  classical  taste."  Had  they  looked  at 
Turner  long  enough  they  would  have  found 
him  as  severe,  when  he  chose,  as  the  greater 
Poussin ; — Callcott,  a  mere  vulgar  imitator  of 
other  men's  high  breeding.  And  so  throughout 
with  all  thoroughly  great  men,  their  strength 
is  not  seen  at  first,  precisely  because  they 
unite,  in  due  place  and  measure,  every  great 
quality. 

60.  Now  the  question  is,  whether,  as  stu- 
dents, we  are  to  study  only  these  mightiest  men, 
who  unite  all  greatness,  or  whether  we  are  to 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  6/ 

study  the  works  of  inferior  men,  who  present 
us  with  the  greatness  which  we  particularly 
like  ?  That  question  often  comes  before  me 
when  I  see  a  strong  idiosyncrasy  in  a  student, 
and  he  asks  me  what  he  should  study.  Shall 
I  send  him  to  a  true  master,  who  does  not 
present  the  quality  in  a  prominent  way  in 
which  that  student  delights,  or  send  him  to  a 
man  with  whom  he  has  direct  sympathy  ?  It 
is  a  hard  question.  For  very  curious  results 
have  sometimes  been  brought  out,  especially 
in  late  years,  not  only  by  students  following 
their  own  bent,  but  by  their  being  withdrawn 
from  teaching  altogether.  I  have  just  named 
a  very  great  man  in  his  own  field — Prout. 
We  all  know  his  drawings,  and  love  them : 
they  have  a  peculiar  character  which  no  other 
architectural  drawings  ever  possessed,  and 
which  no  others  ever  can  possess,  because  all 
Front's  subjects  are  being  knocked  down,  or 
restored.  (Prout  did  not  like  restored  build- 
ings any  more  than  I  do.)  There  will  never 
be  any  more  Prout  drawings.  Nor  could  he 
have  been  what  he  was,  or  expressed  with 
that  mysteriously  effective  touch  that  peculiar 
delight  in  broken  and  old  buildings,  unless 


68  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

he  had  been  withdrawn  from  all  high  art  in- 
fluence. You  know  that  Front  was  born  of 
poor  parents — that  he  was  educated  down  in 
Cornwall;  and  that,  for  many  years,  all  the 
art-teaching  he  had  was  his  own,  or  the  fisher- 
men's. Under  the  keels  of  the  fishing-boats, 
on  the  sands  of  our  southern  coasts,  Prout 
learned  all  he  needed  to  learn  about  art. 
Entirely  by  himself,  he  felt  his  way  to  this 
particular  style,  and  became  the  painter  of 
pictures  which  I  think  we  should  all  regret 
to  lose.  It  becomes  a  very  difficult  question 
what  that  man  would  have  been,  had  he  been 
brought  under  some  entirely  wholesome  ar- 
tistic influence.  He  had  immense  gifts  of 
composition.  I  do  not  know  any  man  who  had 
more  power  of  invention  than  Prout,  or  who 
had  a  sublimer  instinct  in  his  treatment  of 
things ;  but  being  entirely  withdrawn  from  all 
artistical  help,  he  blunders  his  way  to  that 
short-coming  representation,  which,  by  the 
very  reason  of  its  short-coming,  has  a  certain 
charm  we  should  all  be  sorry  to  lose.  And 
therefore  I  feel  embarrassed  when  a  student 
comes  to  me,  in  whom  I  see  a  strong  instinct 
of  that  kind :  and  cannot  tell  whether  I  ought 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  69 

to  say  to  him,  "  Give  up  all  your  studies  of  old 
boats,  and  keep  away  from  the  sea-shore,  and 
come  up  to  the  Royal  Academy  in  London, 
and  look  at  nothing  but  Titian."  It  is  a  diffi- 
cult thing  to  make  up  one's  mind  to  say  that. 
However,  I  believe,  on  the  whole,  we  may 
wisely  leave  such  matters  in  the  hands  of 
Providence;  that  if  we  have  the  power  of 
teaching  the  right  to  anybody,  we  should 
teach  them  the  right ;  if  we  have  the  power  of 
showing  them  the  best  thing,  we  should  show 
them  the  best  thing ;  there  will  always,  I  fear, 
be  enough  want  of  teaching,  and  enough  bad 
teaching,  to  bring  out  very  curious  erratical 
results  if  we  want  them.  So,  if  we  are  to  teach 
at  all,  let  us  teach  the  right  thing,  and  ever 
the  right  thing.  There  are  many  attractive 
qualities  inconsistent  with  Tightness; — do  not 
let  us  teach  them, — let  us  be  content  to  waive 
them.  There  are  attractive  qualities  in  Burns, 
and  attractive  qualities  in  Dickens,  which 
neither  of  those  writers  would  have  possessed 
if  the  one  had  been  educated,  and  the  other 
had  been  studying  higher  nature  than  that  of 
cockney  London  ;  but  those  attractive  qualities 
are  not  such  as  we  should  seek  in  a  school 


7<3  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

of  literature.  If  we  want  to  teach  young  men 
a  good  manner  of  writing,  we  should  teach 
it  from  Shakespeare, — not  from  Burns;  from 
Walter  Scott, — and  not  from  Dickens.  And  I 
believe  that  our  schools  of  painting  are  at 
present  inefficient  in  their  action,  because  they 
have  not  fixed  on  this  high  principle  which  are 
the  painters  to  whom  to  point ;  nor  boldly 
resolved  to  point  to  the  best,  if  determinable. 
It  is  becoming  a  matter  of  stern  necessity  that 
they  should  give  a  simple  direction  to  the 
attention  of  the  student,  and  that  they  should 
say,  "This  is  the  mark  you  are  to  aim  at; 
and  you  are  not  to  go  about  to  the  print- 
shops,  and  peep  in,  to  see  how  this  engraver 
does  that,  and  the  other  engraver  does  the 
other,  and  how  a  nice  bit  of  character  has 
been  caught  by  a  new  man,  and  why  this 
odd  picture  has  caught  the  popular  attention. 
You  are  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  all  that ; 
you  are  not  to  mind  about  popular  attention 
just  now ;  but  here  is  a  thing  which  is  eternally 
right  and  good :  you  are  to  look  at  that,  and 
see  if  you  cannot  do  something  eternally  right 
and  good  too." 

61.  But  suppose  you  accept  this  principle; 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  7 1 

and  resolve  to  look  to  some  great  man,  Titian, 
or  Turner,  or  whomsoever  it  may  be,  as  the 
model  of  perfection  in  art ; — then  the  question 
is,  since  this  great  man  pursued  his  art  in 
Venice,  or  in  the  fields  of  England,  under 
totally  different  conditions  from  those  possible 
to  us  now — how  are  you  to  make  your  study 
of  him  effective  here  in  Manchester  ?  how 
bring  it  down  into  patterns,  and  all  that  you 
are  called  upon  as  operatives  to  produce  ? 
how  make  it  the  means  of  your  livelihood, 
and  associate  inferior  branches  of  art  with 
this  great  art  ?  That  may  become  a  serious 
doubt  to  you.  You  may  think  there  is  some 
other  way  of  producing  clever,  and  pretty,  and 
saleable  patterns,  than  going  to  look  at  Titian, 
or  any  other  great  man.  And  that  brings  me 
to  the  question,  perhaps  the  most  vexed  ques- 
tion of  all  amongst  us  just  now,  between 
conventional  and  perfect  art.  You  know  that 
among  architects  and  artists  there  are,  and 
have  been  almost  always,  since  art  became 
a  subject  of  much  discussion,  two  parties,  one 
maintaining  that  nature  should  be  always 
altered  and  modified,  and  that  the  artist  is 
greater  than  nature;  they  do  not  maintain, 


72  THE    UNITY   OF    ART. 

indeed,  in  words,  but  they  maintain  in  idea, 
that  the  artist  is  greater  than  the  Divine 
Maker  of  these  things,  and  can  improve  them ; 
while  the  other  party  say  that  he  cannot 
improve  nature,  and  that  nature  on  the  whole 
should  improve  him.  That  is  the  real  meaning 
of  the  two  parties,  the  essence  of  them ;  the 
practical  result  of  their  several  theories  being 
that  the  Idealists  are  always  producing  more 
or  less  formal  conditions  of  art,  and  the 
Realists  striving  to  produce  in  all  their  art 
either  some  image  of  nature,  or  record  of 
nature;  these,  observe,  being  quite  different 
things,  the  image  being  a  resemblance,  and 
the  record,  something  which  will  give  infor- 
mation about  nature,  but  not  necessarily  imi- 
tate it. 

***** 

[The  portion  of  the  lecture  here  omitted  was  a  recapitu- 
lation of  that  part  of  the  previous  one  which  opposed 
conventional  art  to  natural  art.] 

62.  You  may  separate  these  two  groups 
of  artists  more  distinctly  in  your  mind  as 
those  who  seek  for  the  pleasure  of  art,  in 
the  relations  of  its  colours  and  lines,  without 
caring  to  convey  any  truth  with  it ;  and  those 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  73 

who  seek  for  the  truth  first,  and  then  go 
down  from  the  truth  to  the  pleasure  of  colour 
and  line.  Marking  those  two  bodies  dis- 
tinctly as  separate,  and  thinking  over  them, 
you  may  come  to  some  rather  notable  con- 
clusions respecting  the  mental  dispositions 
which  are  involved  in  each  mode  of  study. 
You  will  find  that  large  masses  of  the  art  of 
the  world  fall  definitely  under  one  or  the  other 
of  these  heads.  Observe,  pleasure  first  and 
truth  afterwards,  (or  not  at  all,)  as  with  the 
Arabians  and  Indians :  or,  truth  first  and 
pleasure  afterwards,  as  with  Angelico  and  all 
other  great  European  painters.  You  will  find 
that  the  art  whose  end  is  pleasure  only  is  pre- 
eminently the  gift  of  cruel  and  savage  nations, 
cruel  in  temper,  savage  in  habits  and  concep- 
tion; but  that  the  art  which  is  especially 
dedicated  to  natural  fact  always  indicates  a 
peculiar  gentleness  and  tenderness  of  mind, 
and  that  all  great  and  successful  work  of 
that  kind  will  assuredly  be  the  production  of 
thoughtful,  sensitive,  earnest,  kind  men,  large 
in  their  views  of  life,  and  full  of  various 
intellectual  power.  And  farther,  when  you 
examine  the  men  in  whom  the  gifts  of  art  are 


74  THE    UNITY  OF    ART. 

variously  mingled,  or  universally  mingled,  you 
will  discern  that  the  ornamental,  or  pleasurable 
power,  though  it  may  be  possessed  by  good 
men,  is  not  in  itself  an  indication  of  their  good- 
ness, but  is  rather,  unless  balanced  by  other 
faculties,  indicative  of  violence  of  temper,  in- 
clining to  cruelty  and  to  irreligion.  On  the 
other  hand,  so  sure  as  you  find  any  man 
endowed  with  a  keen  and  separate  faculty 
of  representing  natural  fact,  so  surely  you 
will  find  that  man  gentle  and  upright,  full  of 
nobleness  and  breadth  of  thought.  I  will  give 
you  two  instances,  the  first  peculiarly  English, 
and  another  peculiarly  interesting  because  it 
occurs  among  a  nation  not  generally  very  kind 
or  gentle. 

63.  I  am  inclined  to  think  that,  considering 
all  the  disadvantages  of  circumstances  and 
education  under  which  his  genius  was  deve- 
loped, there  was  perhaps  hardly  ever  born  a 
man  with  a  more  intense  and  innate  gift  of 
insight  into  nature  than  our  own  Sir  Joshua 
Reynolds.  Considered  as  a  painter  of  indi- 
viduality in  the  human  form  and  mind,  I  think 
him,  even  as  it  is,  the  prince  of  portrait 
painters.  Titian  paints  nobler  pictures,  and 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  75 

Vandyke  had  nobler  subjects,  but  neither  of 
them  entered  so  subtly  as  Sir  Joshua  did  into 
the  minor  varieties  of  human  heart  and  temper ; 
and  when  you  consider  that,  with  a  frightful 
conventionality  of  social  habitude  all  around 
him,  he  yet  conceived  the  simplest  types  of 
all  feminine  and  childish  loveliness; — that  in 
a  northern  climate,  and  with  gray,  and  white, 
and  black,  as  the  principal  colours  around 
him,  he  yet  became  a  colourist  who  can  be 
crushed  by  none,  even  of  the  Venetians; — 
and  that  with  Dutch  painting  and  Dresden 
china  for  the  prevailing  types  of  art  in  the 
saloons  of  his  day,  he  threw  himself  at  once 
at  the  feet  of  the  great  masters  of  Italy,  and 
arose  from  their  feet  to  share  their  throne — 
I  know  not  that  in  the  whole  history  of  art 
you  can  produce  another  instance  of  so  strong, 
so  unaided,  so  unerring  an  instinct  for  all 
that  was  true,  pure,  and  noble. 

64.  Now,  do  you  recollect  the  evidence 
respecting  the  character  of  this  man, — the 
two  points  of  bright  peculiar  evidence  given 
by  the  sayings  of  the  two  greatest  literary 
men  of  his  day,  Johnson  and  Goldsmith  ? 
Johnson,  who,  as  you  know,  was  always 


76  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

Reynolds'  attached  friend,  had  but  one  com- 
plaint to  make  against  him,  that  he  hated 
nobody  : — "  Reynolds,"  he  said,  "  you  hate 
no  one  living ;  I  like  a  good  hater ! "  Still 
more  significant  is  the  little  touch  in  Gold- 
smith's "  Retaliation."  You  recollect  how  in 
that  poem  he  describes  the  various  persons 
who  met  at  one  of  their  dinners  at  St.  James's 
Coffee-house,  each  person  being  described 
under  the  name  of  some  appropriate  dish. 
You  will  often  hear  the  concluding  lines  about 
Reynolds  quoted — 

"He  shifted  his  trumpet,"  &c.  ;— 

Jess  often,  or  at  least  less  attentively,  the  pre- 
ceding ones,  far  more  important — 

"  Still  born  to  improve  us  in  every  part — 
His  pencil  our  faces,  his  manners  our  heart /" 

and  never,  the  most  characteristic  touch  of 
all,  near  the  beginning  : — 

"  Our  dean  shall  be  venison,  just  fresh  from  the  plains  ; 
Our  Burke  shall  be  tongue,  with  a  garnish  of  brains  ; 
To  make  out  the  dinner,  full  certain  I  am, 
That  Rich  is  anchovy,  and  Reynolds  is  lamb? 

65.  The  other  painter  whom  I  would  give 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  77 

you  as  an  instance  of  this  gentleness  is  a  man 
of  another  nation,  on  the  whole  I  suppose 
one  of  the  most  cruel  civilized  nations  in  the 
world, — the  Spaniards.  They  produced  but 
one  great  painter,  only  one;  but  he  among 
the  very  greatest  of  painters,  Velasquez.  You 
would  not  suppose,  from  looking  at  Velasquez' 
portraits  generally,  that  he  was  an  especially 
kind  or  good  man ;  you  perceive  a  peculiar 
sternness  about  them ;  for  they  were  as  true 
as  steel,  and  the  persons  whom  he  had  to 
paint  being  not  generally  kind  or  good  people, 
they  were  stern  in  expression,  and  Velasquez 
gave  the  sternness ;  but  he  had  precisely  the 
same  intense  perception  of  truth,  the  same 
marvellous  instinct  for  the  rendering  of  all 
natural  soul  and  all  natural  form  that  our 
Reynolds  had.  Let  me,  then,  read  you  his 
character  as  it  is  given  by  Mr.  Stirling,  of 
Keir:— 

"Certain  charges,  of  what  nature  we  are  not  in- 
formed, brought  against  him  after  his  death,  made  it 
necessary  for  his  executor,  Fuensalida,  to  refute  them 
at  a  private  audience  granted  to  him  by  the  king  for 
that  purpose.  After  listening  to  the  defence  of  his 
friend,  Philip  immediately  made  answer  :  '  I  can  be- 
lieve all  you  say  of  the  excellent  disposition  of  Diego 


78  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

Velasquez.'  Having  lived  for  half  his  life  in  courts,. 
he  was  yet  capable  both  of  gratitude  and  generosity, 
and  in  the  misfortunes,  he  could  remember  the  early 
kindness  of  Olivares.  The  friend  of  the  exile  of 
Loeches,  it  is  just  to  believe  that  he  was  also  the 
friend  of  the  all-powerful  favourite  at  Buenretiro.  No 
mean  jealousy  ever  influenced  his  conduct  to  his  bro- 
ther artists  ;  he  could  afford  not  only  to  acknowledge 
the  merits,  but  to  forgive  the  malice,  of  his  rivals. 
His  character  was  of  that  rare  and  happy  kind,  in 
which  high  intellectual  power  is  combined  with  in- 
domitable strength  of  will,  and  a  winning  sweetness 
of  temper,  and  which  seldom  fails  to  raise  the  pos- 
sessor above  his  fellow-men,  making  his  life  a 

'laurelled  victory,  and  smooth  success 
Bestrewed  before  his  feet.'  " 

66.  I  am  sometimes  accused  of  trying  to 
make  art  too  moral;  yet,  observe,  I  do  not 
say  in  the  least  that  in  order  to  be  a  good 
painter  you  must  be  a  good  man ;  but  I  do 
say  that  in  order  to  be  a  good  natural  painter 
there  must  be  strong  elements  of  good  in 
the  mind,  however  warped  by  other  parts 

/"of  the  character.  There  are  hundreds  of  other 
gifts  of  painting  which  are  not  at  all  involved 
with  moral  conditions,  but  this  one,  the  per- 
ception of  nature,  is  never  given  but  under 

.  certain  moral  conditions.  Therefore,  now  you 
have  it  in  your  choice;  here  are  your  two 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  79 

paths  for  you  :  it  is  required  of  you  to  produce 
conventional  ornament,  and  you  may  approach 
the  task  as  the  Hindoo  does,  and  as  the  Arab 
did,  without  nature  at  all,  with  the  chance  of 
approximating  your  disposition  somewhat  to 
that  of  the  Hindoos  and  Arabs ;  or  as  Sir 
Joshua  and  Velasquez  did,  with,  not  the 
chance,  but  the  certainty,  of  approximating 
your  disposition,  according  to  the  sincerity  of 
your  effort — to  the  disposition  of  those  great 
and  good  men. 

67.  And  do  you  suppose  you  will  lose 
anything  by  approaching  your  conventional 
art  from  this  higher  side  ?  Not  so.  I  called, 
with  deliberate  measurement  of  my  expression, 
long  ago,  the  decoration  of  the  Alhambra 
"  detestable,"  not  merely  because  indicative  of 
base  conditions  of  moral  being,  but  because 
merely  as  decorative  work,  however  captivating 
in  some  respects,  it  is  wholly  wanting  in  the 
real,  deep,  and  intense  qualities  of  ornamental 
art.  Noble  conventional  decoration  belongs 
only  to  three  periods.  First,  there  is  the 
conventional  decoration  of  the  Greeks,  used 
in  subordination  to  their  sculpture.  There 
are  then  the  noble  conventional  decoration 


8O  THE    UNITY    OF    ART. 

of  the  early  Gothic  schools,  and  the  noble 
conventional  arabesque  of  the  great  Italian 
schools.  All  these  were  reached  from  above, 
all  reached  by  stooping  from  a  knowledge  of 
the  human  form.  Depend  upon  it  you  will 
find,  as  you  look  more  and  more  into  the 
matter,  that  good  subordinate  ornament  has 
ever  been  rooted  in  a  higher  knowledge;  and 
if  you  are  again  to  produce  anything  that  is 
noble,  you  must  have  the  higher  knowledge 
first,  and  descend  to  all  lower  service;  con- 
descend as  much  as  you  like, — condescension 
never  does  any  man  any  harm, — but  get  your 
noble  standing  first.  So,  then,  without  any 
scruple,  whatever  branch  of  art  you  may  be 
inclined  as  a  student  here  to  follow, — what- 
ever you  are  to  make  your  bread  by,  I  say,  so 
far  as  you  have  time  and  power,  make  yourself 
first  a  noble  and  accomplished  artist;  under- 
stand at  least  what  noble  and  accomplished 
art  is,  and  then  you  will  be  able  to  apply 
your  knowledge  to  all  service  whatsoever. 

68.  I  am  now  going  to  ask  your  permis- 
sion to  name  the  masters  whom  I  think  it 
would  be  well  if  we  could  agree,  in  our 
Schools  of  Art  in  England,  to  consider  our 


THE    UNITY   OF   ART.  8 1 

leaders.  The  first  and  chief  I  will  not  my- 
self presume  to  name;  he  shall  be  distin- 
guished for  you  by  the  authority  of  those 
two  great  painters  of  whom  we  have  just 
been  speaking  —  Reynolds  and  Velasquez. 
You  may  remember  that  in  your  Manchester 
Art  Treasures  Exhibition  the  most  impres- 
sive things  were  the  works  of  those  two 
men — nothing  told  upon  the  eye  so  much ; 
no  other  pictures  retained  it  with  such  a 
persistent  power.  Now,  I  have  the  testi- 
mony, first  of  Reynolds  to  Velasquez,  and 
then  of  Velasquez  to  the  man  whom  I  want 
you  to  take  as  the  master  of  all  your  English 
schools.  The  testimony  of  Reynolds  to  Velas- 
quez is  very  striking.  I  take  it  from  some 
fragments  which  have  just  been  published 
by  Mr.  William  Cotton — precious  fragments — 
of  Reynolds'  diaries,  which  I  chanced  upon 
luckily  as  I  was  coming  down  here :  for  I 
was  going  to  take  Velasquez'  testimony  alone, 
and  then  fell  upon  this  testimony  of  Reynolds 
to  Velasquez,  written  most  fortunately  in 
Reynolds'  own  hand — you  may  see  the  manu- 
script. "What  we  are  all,"  said  Reynolds, 
"  attempting  to  do  with  great  labour,  Velasquez 

F 


82  THE    UNITY   OF    ART. 

does  at  once"  Just  think  what  is  implied  when 
a  man  of  the  enormous  power  and  facility  that 
Reynolds  had,  says  he  was  "  trying  to  do  with 
great  labour"  what  Velasquez  'Mid  at  once." 

69.  Having  thus  Reynolds*  testimony  to 
Velasquez,  I  will  take  Velasquez'  testimony 
to  somebody  else.  You  know  that  Velasquez 
was  sent  by  Philip  of  Spain,  to  Italy,  to  buy 
pictures  for  him.  He  went  all  over  Italy, 
saw  the  living  artists  there,  and  all  their  best 
pictures  when  freshly  painted,  so  that  he  had 
every  opportunity  of  judging;  and  never  was 
a  man  so  capable  of  judging.  He  went  to 
Rome  and  ordered  various  works  of  living 
artists;  and,  while  there,  he  was  one  day 
asked  by  Salvator  Rosa  what  he  thought  of 
Raphael.  His  reply,  and  the  ensuing  con- 
versation, are  thus  reported  by  Boschini,  in 
curious  Italian  verse,  which,  thus  translated 
by  Dr.  Donaldson,  is  quoted  in  Mr.  Stirling's 
Life  of  Velasquez  : — 


"The  master"  [Velasquez]  "stiffly  bowed  his  figure 

tall 

And  said,  '  For  Rafael,  to  speak  the  truth — 
I  always  was  plain-spoken  from  my  youth — 
I  cannot  say  I  like  his  works  at  all.' 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  83 

"'Well,'  said  the  other"  [Salvator],  "'if  you  can  run 

down 

So  great  a  man,  I  really  cannot  see 

What  you  can  find  to  like  in  Italy  ; 

To  him  we  all  agree  to  give  the  crown.' 

"  Diego  answered  thus  :  '  I  saw  in  Venice 
The  true  test  of  the  good  and  beautiful ; 
First,  in  my  judgment,  ever  stands  that  school, 
And  Titian  first  of  all  Italian  men  is.'" 

"  Tizian  ze  quel che porta  la  bandiera" 

Learn  that  line  by  heart,  and  act,  at  all  events 
for  some  time  to  come,  upon  Velasquez'  opinion 
in  that  matter.  Titian  is  much  the  safest 
master  for  you.  Raphael's  power,  such  as  it 
was,  and  great  as  it  was,  depended  wholly 
upon  transcendental  characters  in  his  mind ; 
it  is  "  Raphaelesque,"  properly  so  called ;  but 
Titian's  power  is  simply  the  power  of  doing 
right.  Whatever  came  before  Titian,  he  did 
wholly  as  it  ought  to  be  done.  Do  not  suppose 
that  now  in  recommending  Titian  to  you  so 
strongly,  and  speaking  of  nobody  else  to-night, 
I  am  retreating  in  anywise  from  what  some  of 
you  may  perhaps  recollect  in  my  works,  the 
enthusiasm  with  which  I  have  always  spoken 
of  another  Venetian  painter.  There  are  three 
Venetians  who  are  never  separated  in  my 


84  THE   UNITY   OF   ART. 

mind, — Titian,  Veronese,  and  Tintoret.  They 
all  have  their  own  unequalled  gifts,  and  Tin- 
toret especially  has  imagination  and  depth  of 
soul  which  I  think  renders  him  indisputably 
the  greatest  man ;  but,  equally  indisputably, 
Titian  is  the  greatest  painter;  and  therefore 
the  greatest  painter  who  ever  lived.  You  may 
be  led  wrong  by  Tintoret*  in  many  respects, 
wrong  by  Raphael  in  more ;  all  that  you  learn 
from  Titian  will  be  right.  Then,  with  Titian, 
take  Leonardo,  Rembrandt,  and  Albert  Durer. 
I  name  those  three  masters  for  this  reason : 
Leonardo  has  powers  of  subtle  drawing  which 
are  peculiarly  applicable  in  many  ways  to  the 
drawing  of  fine  ornament,  and  are  very  useful 
for  all  students.  Rembrandt  and  Durer  are 
the  only  men  whose  actual  work  of  hand  you 
can  have  to  look  at ;  you  can  have  Rembrandt's 
etchings,  or  Durer' s  engravings  actually  hung 
in  your  schools ;  and  it  is  a  main  point  for  the 
student  to  see  the  real  thing,  and  avoid  judg- 
ing of  masters  at  second-hand.  As,  however, 
in  obeying  this  principle,  you  cannot  often 
have  opportunities  of  studying  Venetian  paint- 
ing, it  is  desirable  that  you  should  have  a 

*See  Appendix  I.  :  "  Right  and  Wrong." 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  85 

useful  standard  of  colour,  and  I  think  it  is 
possible  for  you  to  obtain  this.  I  cannot, 
indeed,  without  entering  upon  ground  which 
might  involve  the  hurting  the  feelings  of  living 
artists,  state  exactly  what  I  believe  to  be  the 
relative  position  of  various  painters  in  England 
at  present  with  respect  to  power  of  colour. 
But  I  may  say  this,  that  in  the  peculiar  gifts  of 
colour  which  will  be  useful  to  you  as  students, 
there  are  only  one  or  two  of  the  pre-Raphael- 
ites,  and  William  Hunt,  of  the  old  Water 
Colour  Society,  who  would  be  safe  guides  for 
you ;  and  as  quite  a  safe  guide,  there  is  nobody 
but  William  Hunt,  because  the  pre-Raphaelites 
are  all  more  or  less  affected  by  enthusiasm  and 
by  various  morbid  conditions  of  intellect  and 
temper;  but  old  William  Hunt — I  am  sorry 
to  say  "old,"  but  I  say  it  in  a  loving  way, 
for  every  year  that  has  added  to  his  life  has 
added  also  to  his  skill — William  Hunt  is  as 
right  as  the  Venetians,  as  far  as  he  goes, 
and  what  is  more,  nearly  as  inimitable  as  they. 
And  I  think  if  we  manage  to  put  in  the 
principal  schools  of  England  a  little  bit  of 
Hunt's  work,  and  make  that  somewhat  of  a 
standard  of  colour,  that  we  can  apply  his 


86  THE    UNITY   OF    ART. 

principles  of  colouring  to  subjects  of  all  kinds. 
Until  you  have  had  a  work  of  his  long  near 
you;  nay,  unless  you  have  been  labouring  at 
it,  and  trying  to  copy  it,  you  do  not  know  the 
thoroughly  grand  qualities  that  are  concen- 
trated in  it.  Simplicity,  and  intensity,  both  of 
the  highest  character ; — simplicity  of  aim,  and 
intensity  of  power  and  success,  are  involved  in 
that  man's  unpretending  labour. 

70.  Finally,  you  cannot  believe  that  I  would 
omit  my  own  favourite,  Turner.  I  fear  from 
the  very  number  of  his  works  left  to  the  nation, 
that  there  is  a  disposition  now  rising  to  look 
upon  his  vast  bequest  with  some  contempt.  I 
beg  of  you,  if  in  nothing  else,  to  believe  me  in 
this,  that  you  cannot  further  the  art  of  England 
in  any  way  more  distinctly  than  by  giving 
attention  to  every  fragment  that  has  been  left 
by  that  man.  The  time  will  come  when  his 
full  power  and  right  place  will  be  acknow- 
ledged ;  that  time  will  not  be  for  many  a  day 
yet :  nevertheless,  be  assured — as  far  as  you 
are  inclined  to  give  the  least  faith  to  anything 
I  may  say  to  you,  be  assured — that  you  can 
act  for  the  good  of  art  in  England  in  no  better 
way  than  by  using  whatever  influence  any  of 


THE    UNITY    OF    ART.  87 

you  have  in  any  direction  to  urge  the  reverent 
study  and  yet  more  reverent  preservation  of 
the  works  of  Turner.  I  do  not  say.  ."the 
exhibition  "  of  his  works,  for  we  are  not  alto- 
gether ripe  for  it :  they  are  still  too  far  above 
us;  uniting,  as  I  was  telling  you,  too  many 
qualities  for  us  yet  to  feel  fully  their  range  and 
their  influence; — but  let  us  only  try  to  keep 
them  safe  from  harm,  and  show  thoroughly  and 
conveniently  what  we  show  of  them  at  all,  and 
day  by  day  their  greatness  will  dawn  upon  us 
more  and  more,  and  be  the  root  of  a  school  of 
Art  in  England,  which  I  do  not  doubt  may  be 
as  bright,  as  just,  and  as  refined  as  even  that 
of  Venice  herself.  The  dominion  of  the  sea 
seems  to  have  been  associated,  in  past  time, 
with  dominion  in  the  arts  also :  Athens  had 
them  together ;  Venice  had  them  together ;  but 
by  so  much  as  our  authority  over  the  ocean  is 
wider  than  theirs  over  the  ^Egean  or  Adriatic, 
let  us  strive  to  make  our  art  more  widely 
beneficent  than  theirs,  though  it  cannot  be 
more  exalted  ;  so  working  out  the  fulfilment,  in 
their  wakening  as  well  as  their  warning  sense, 
of  those  great  words  of  the  aged  Tintoret : 
"SEMPRE  si  FA  IL  MARE  MAGGIORE." 


LECTURE  III. 

MODERN   MANUFACTURE  AND   DESIGN. 
A  Lecture  delivered  at  Bradford,  March  1st,  1859. 

71.  IT  is  with  a  deep  sense  of  necessity  for 
your  indulgence  that  I  venture  to  address 
you  to-night,  or  that  I  venture  at  any  time  to 
address  the  pupils  of  schools  of  design  in- 
tended for  the  advancement  of  taste  in  special 
branches  of  manufacture.  No  person  is  able 
to  give  useful  and  definite  help  towards  such 
special  applications  of  art,  unless  he  is  entirely 
familiar  with  the  conditions  of  labour  and 
natures  of  material  involved  in  the  work ;  and 
/^definite  help  is  little  better  than  no  help 
at  all.  Nay,  the  few  remarks  which  I  pro- 
pose to  lay  before  you  this  evening  will,  I 
fear,  be  rather  suggestive  of  difficulties  than 
helpful  in  conquering  them:  nevertheless,  it 
may  not  be  altogether  unserviceable  to  define 


MODERN    MANUFACTURE    AND    DESIGN.         89 

clearly  for  you  (and  this,  at  least,  I  am  able 
to  do)  one  or  two  of  the  more  stern  general 
obstacles  which  stand  at  present  in  the  way 
of  our  success  in  design;  and  to  warn  you 
against  exertion  of  effort  in  any  vain  or 
wasteful  way,  till  these  main  obstacles  are 
removed. 

72.  The   first   of  these   is   our  not   under- 
standing the  scope  and  dignity  of  Decorative 
design.     With  all  our  talk  about  it,  the  very 
meaning  of  the  words   "  Decorative  art "  re- 
mains   confused    and    undecided.     I    want,    if 
possible,   to  settle  this  question   for  you   to- 
night, and  to  show  you  that  the  principles  on 
which  you  must  work  are  likely  to   be  false, 
in  proportion  as  they  are  narrow;  true,  only 
as  they  are  founded  on   a  perception  of  the 
connection  of  all  branches  of  art  with   each 
other. 

73.  Observe,  then,  first — the  only  essential 
distinction   between  Decorative  and  other  art 
is  the  being   fitted  for  a  fixed   place;  and  in 
that    place,    related,    either    in    subordination 
or  in  command,  to  the  effect  of  other  pieces 
of  art.     And  all  the    greatest    art  which    the 
world  has  produced  is  thus  fitted  for  a  place, 


gO  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

and  subordinated  to  a  purpose.  There  is  no 
existing  highest-order  art  but  is  decorative. 
The  best  sculpture  yet  produced  has  been  the 
decoration  of  a  temple  front — the  best  painting, 
the  decoration  of  a  room.  Raphael's  best 
doing  is  merely  the  wall-colouring  of  a  suite 
of  apartments  in  the  Vatican,  and  his  cartoons 
were  made  for  tapestries.  Correggio's  best 
doing  is  the  decoration  of  two  small  church 
cupolas  at  Parma ;  Michael  Angelo's,  of  a  ceil- 
ing in  the  Pope's  private  chapel;  Tintoret's, 
of  a  ceiling  and  side  wall  belonging  to  a  cha- 
ritable society  at  Venice;  while  Titian  and 
Veronese  threw  out  their  noblest  thoughts,  not 
even  on  the  inside,  but  on  the  outside  of  the 
common  brick  and  plaster  walls  of  Venice. 

74.  Get  rid,  then,  at  once  of  any  idea  of 
Decorative  art  being  a  degraded  or  a  separate 
kind  of  art.  Its  nature  or  essence  is  simply 
its  being  fitted  for  a  definite  place;  and,  in 
that  place,  forming  part  of  a  great  and  har- 
monious whole,  in  companionship  with  other 
art ;  and  so  far  from  this  being  a  degradation 
to  it — so  far  from  Decorative  art  being  inferior 
to  other  art  because  it  is  fixed  to  a  spot — on 
the  whole  it  may  be  considered  as  rather  a 


AND    DESIGN.  9 1 

piece  of  degradation  that  it  should  be  portable. 
Portable  art — independent  of  all  place — is  for 
the  most  part  ignoble  art.  Your  little  Dutch 
landscape,  which  you  put  over  your  sideboard 
to-day,  and  between  the  windows  to-morrow, 
is  a  far  more  contemptible  piece  of  work  than 
the  extents  of  field  and  forest  with  which 
Benozzo  has  made  green  and  beautiful  the 
once  melancholy  arcade  of  the  Campo  Santo 
at  Pisa;  and  the  wild  boar  of  silver  which 
you  use  for  a  seal,  or  lock  into  a  velvet 
case,  is  little  likely  to  be  so  noble  a  beast  as 
the  bronze  boar  who  foams  forth  the  fountain 
from  under  his  tusks  in  the  market-place  of 
Florence.  It  is,  indeed,  possible  that  the 
portable  picture  or  image  may  be  first-rate 
of  its  kind,  but  it  is  not  first-rate  because  it 
is  portable;  nor  are  Titian's  frescoes  less 
than  first-rate  because  they  are  fixed ;  nay, 
very  frequently  the  highest  compliment  you 
can  pay  to  a  cabinet  picture  is  to  say — "  It 
is  as  grand  as  a  fresco." 

75.  Keeping,  then,  this  fact  fixed  in  our 
minds, — that  all  art  may  be  decorative,  and 
that  the  greatest  art  yet  produced  has  been 
decorative, — we  may  proceed  to  distinguish 


92  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

the  orders  and  dignities  of  Decorative  art, 
thus : — 

I.  The  first  order  of  it  is  that  which  is 
meant  for  places  where  it  cannot  be  disturbed 
or  injured,  and  where  it  can  be  perfectly 
seen;  and  then  the  main  parts  of  it  should 
be,  and  have  always  been  made,  by  the  great 
masters,  as  perfect,  and  as  full  of  nature  as 
possible. 

You  will  every  day  hear  it  absurdly  said 
that  room  decoration  should  be  by  flat  pat- 
terns—  by  dead  colours  —  by  conventional 
monotonies,  and  I  know  not  what.  Now,  just 
be  assured  of  this — nobody  ever  yet  used  con- 
ventional art  to  decorate  with,  when  he  could 
do  anything  better,  and  knew  that  what  he 
did  would  be  safe.  Nay,  a  great  painter 
will  always  give  you  the  natural  art,  safe  or 
not.  Correggio  gets  a  commission  to  paint 
a  room  on  the  ground  floor  of  a  palace  at 
Parma :  any  of  our  people — bred  on  our  fine 
modern  principles — would  have  covered  it 
with  a  diaper,  or  with  strips  or  flourishes, 
or  mosaic  patterns.  Not  so  Correggio :  he 
paints  a  thick  trellis  of  vine-leaves,  with  oval 
openings,  and  lovely  children  leaping  through 


AND    DESIGN.  93 

them  into  the  room;  and  lovely  children, 
depend  upon  it,  are  rather  more  desirable 
decorations  than  diaper,  if  you  can  do  them 
—but  they  are  not  quite  so  easily  done.  In 
like  manner  Tintoret  has  to  paint  the  whole 
end  of  the  Council  Hall  at  Venice.  An  ortho- 
dox decorator  would  have  set  himself  to  make 
the  wall  look  like  a  wall — Tintoret  thinks  it 
would  be  rather  better,  if  he  can  manage  it, 
to  make  it  look  a  little  like  Paradise; — 
stretches  his  canvas  right  over  the  wall,  and 
his  clouds  right  over  his  canvas;  brings  the 
light  through  his  clouds — all  blue  and  clear — 
zodiac  beyond  zodiac ;  rolls  away  the  vaporous 
flood  from  under  the  feet  of  saints,  leaving 
them  at  last  in  infinitudes  of  light — unorthodox 
in  the  last  degree,  but,  on  the  whole,  pleasant. 
And  so  in  all  other  cases  whatever,  the 
greatest  decorative  art  is  wholly  unconven- 
tional— downright,  pure,  good  painting  and 
sculpture,  but  always  fitted  for  its  place;  and 
subordinated  to  the  purpose  it  has  to  serve 
in  that  place. 

II.  But  if  art  is  to  be  placed  where  it  is 
liable  to  injury — to  wear  and  tear;  or  to 
alteration  of  its  form;  as,  for  instance,  on 


94  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

domestic  utensils  and  armour,  and  weapons, 
and  dress ;  in  which  either  the  ornament  will 
be  worn  out  by  the  usage  of  the  thing,  or 
will  be  cast  into  altered  shape  by  the  play 
of  its  folds ;  then  it  is  wrong  to  put  beautiful 
and  perfect  art  to  such  uses,  and  you  want 
forms  of  inferior  art,  such  as  will  be  by  their 
simplicity  less  liable  to  injury :  or,  by  reason 
of  their  complexity  and  continuousness,  may 
show  to  advantage,  however  distorted  by  the 
folds  they  are  cast  into. 

76.  And    thus   arise    the    various    forms    of 
inferior   decorative  art,   respecting   which    the 
general  law  is,  that  the  lower  the  place  and 
office   of    the    thing,    the   less   of    natural   or 
perfect  form  you  should  have  in  it;  a  zigzag 
or  a  chequer  is  thus  a  better,  because  a  more 
consistent,    ornament    for    a    cup    or    platter 
than  a  landscape   or   portrait   is :    hence    the 
general  definition   of  the   true  forms  of  con- 
ventional  ornament    is,    that    they   consist    in 
the  bestowal  of  as  much  beauty  on  the  object 
as  shall   be  consistent   with   its    Material,   its 
Place,  and  its  Office. 

77.  Let  us  consider  these  three  modes  of 
consistency  a  little. 


AND    DESIGN.  95 

78.  (A.)  Conventionalism  by  cause  of  in- 
efficiency of  material. 

If,  for  instance,  we  are  required  to  represent 
a  human  figure  with  stone  only,  we  cannot 
represent  its  colour;  we  reduce  its  colour  to 
whiteness.  That  is  not  elevating  the  human 
body,  but  degrading  it;  only  it  would  be  a 
much  greater  degradation  to  give  its  colour 
falsely.  Diminish  beauty  as  much  as  you 
will,  but  do  not  misrepresent  it.  So  again, 
when  we  are  sculpturing  a  face,  we  can't  carve 
its  eyelashes.  The  face  is  none  the  better 
for  wanting  its  eyelashes — it  is  injured  by 
the  want ;  but  would  be  much  more  injured 
by  a  clumsy  representation  of  them. 

Neither  can  we  carve  the  hair.  We  must 
be  content  with  the  conventionalism  of  vile 
solid  knots  and  lumps  of  marble,  instead  of 
the  golden  cloud  that  encompasses  the  fair 
human  face  with  its  waving  mystery.  The 
lumps  of  marble  are  not  an  elevated  repre- 
sentation of  hair — they  are  a  degraded  one; 
yet  better  than  any  attempt  to  imitate  hair 
with  the  incapable  material. 

In  all  cases  in  which  such  imitation  is 
attempted,  instant  degradation  to  a  still  lower 


96  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

level  is  the  result.  For  the  effort  to  imitate 
shows  that  the  workman  has  only  a  base 
and  poor  conception  of  the  beauty  of  the 
reality — else  he  would  know  his  task  to  be 
hopeless,  and  give  it  up  at  once :  so  that 
all  endeavours  to  avoid  conventionalism,  when 
the  material  demands  it,  result  from  insen- 
sibility to  truth,  and  are  among  the  worst 
forms  of  vulgarity.  Hence,  in  the  greatest 
Greek  statues,  the  hair  is  very  slightly  indi- 
cated, not  because  the  sculptor  disdained  hair, 
but  because  he  knew  what  it  was  too  well  to 
touch  it  insolently.  I  do  not  doubt  but  that 
the  Greek  painters  drew  hair  exactly  as  Titian 
does.  Modern  attempts  to ,  produce  finished 
pictures  on  glass  result  from  the  same  base 
vulgarism.  No  man  who  knows  what  paint- 
ing means,  can  endure  a  painted  glass  window 
which  emulates  painters'  work.  But  he  re- 
joices in  a  glowing  mosaic  of  broken  colour: 
for  that  is  what  the  glass  has  the  special  gift 
and  right  of  producing.* 

79.  (B.)  Conventionalism  by  cause  of  in- 
feriority of  place. 

When  work  is  to  be  seen  at  a  great  distance, 

*  See  Appendix  II.,  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds'  disappointment. 


AND    DESIGN.  97 

or  in  dark  places,  or  in  some  other  imperfect 
way,  it  constantly  becomes  necessary  to  treat 
it  coarsely  or  severely,  in  order  to  make  it 
effective.  The  statues  on  cathedral  fronts,  in 
good  times  of  design,  are  variously  treated 
according  to  their  distances  :  no  fine  execution 
is  put  into  the  features  of  the  Madonna  who 
rules  the  group  of  figures  above  the  south 
transept  of  Rouen  at  150  feet  above  the 
ground :  but  in  base  modern  work,  as  Milan 
Cathedral,  the  sculpture  is  finished  without  any 
reference  to  distance;  and  the  merit  of  every 
statue  is  supposed  to  consist  in  the  visitor's 
being  obliged  to  ascend  three  hundred  steps 
before  he  can  see  it. 

80.  (c.)  Conventionalism  by  cause  of  in- 
feriority of  office. 

When  one  piece  of  ornament  is  to  be  subor- 
dinated to  another  (as  the  moulding  is  to  the 
sculpture  it  encloses,  or  the  fringe  of  a  drapery 
to  the  statue  it  veils),  this  inferior  ornament 
needs  to  be  degraded  in  order  to  mark  its 
lower  office ;  and  this  is  best  done  by  refusing, 
more  or  less,  the  introduction  of  natural  form. 
The  less  of  nature  it  contains,  the  more 

degraded  is  the  ornament,  and  the  fitter  for  a 

G 


98  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

humble  place ;  but,  however  far  a  great  work- 
man may  go  in  refusing  the  higher  organisms 
of  nature,  he  always  takes  care  to  retain  the 
magnificence  of  natural  lines;  that  is  to  say, 
of  the  infinite  curves,  such  as  I  have  analyzed 
in  the  fourth  volume  of  •'  Modern  Painters.' 
His  copyists,  fancying  that  they  can  follow 
him  without  nature,  miss  precisely  the  essence 
of  all  work ;  so  that  even  the  simplest  piece  of 
Greek  conventional  ornament  loses  the  whole 
of  its  value  in  any  modern  imitation  of  it,  the 
finer  curves  being  always  missed.  Perhaps 
one  of  the  dullest  and  least  justifiable  mistakes 
which  have  yet  been  made  about  my  writing, 
is  the  supposition  that  I  have  attacked  or 
despised  Greek  work.  I  have  attacked  Palla- 
dian  work,  and  modern  imitation  of  Greek 
work.  Of  Greek  work  itself  I  have  never 
spoken  but  with  a  reverence  quite  infinite:.  I 
name  Phidias  always  in  exactly  the  same  tone 
with  which  I  speak  of  Michael  Angelo,,  Titian, 
and  Dante.  My  first  statement  of  this  faith, 
now  thirteen  years  ago,  was  surely  clear 
enough.  "We  shall  see  by  this  light  three 
colossal  images  standing  up  side  by  side, 
looming  in  their  great  rest  of  spirituality  above 


.    AND    DESIGN.  99 

the   whole    world   horizon.     Phidias,    Michael 
Angelo,  and  Dante, — from  these  we  may  go 
down  step  by  step  among  the  mighty  men  of 
every   age,   securely   and  certainly   observant 
of  diminished  lustre  in  every  appearance  of 
restlessness  and  effort,  until  the  last  trace  of 
inspiration  vanishes  in  the  tottering  affectation 
or     tortured     insanities     of    modern     times." 
('  Modern  Painters/  vol.  ii.  p.  63.)     This  was 
surely  plain  speaking  enough ;  and  from  that 
day  to  this  my  effort  has  been  not  less  con- 
tinually   to    make    the    heart   of   Greek   work 
known  than  the  heart  of  Gothic :  namely,  the 
nobleness  of  conception  of  form  derived  from 
perpetual  study  of  the  .figure ;  and  my  complaint 
of  the  modern  architect  has  been,  not  that  he 
followed   the  Greeks,  but  that  he  denied   the 
first  laws  of  life  in  theirs  as  in  all  other  art. 
81.    The  fact  is,  that  all  good  subordinate 
forms  of  ornamentation  ever  yet  existent  in 
the    world    have    been    invented,    and    others 
as  beautiful  can   only    be   invented,    by   men 
primarily  exercised  in  drawing  or  carving  the 
human  figure.     I  will  not  repeat  here  what  I 
have  already  twice  insisted  upon,  to  the  students 
of    London    and    of    Manchester,    respecting 


IOO  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

the  degradation  of  temper  and  intellect  which 
follows  the  pursuit  of  art  without  refer- 
ence to  natural  form,  as  among  the  Asiatics : 
here,  I  will  only  trespass  on  your  patience 
so  far  as  to  mark  the  inseparable  connection, 
between  figure-drawing  and  good  ornamental 
work,  in  the  great  European  schools,  and  all 
that  are  connected  with  them. 

82.  Tell  me,  then,  first  of  all,  what  orna- 
mental work  is  usually  put  before  our  stu- 
dents as  the  type  of  decorative  perfection  ? 
Raphael's  arabesques ;  are  they  not  ?  Well, 
Raphael  knew  a  little  about  the  figure,  I  sup- 
pose, before  he  drew  them.  I  do  not  say  that 
I  like  those  arabesques ;  but  there  are  cer- 
tain qualities  in  them  which  are  inimitable  by 
modern  designers;  and  those  qualities  are  just 
the  fruit  of  the  master's  figure  study.  What  is 
given  to  the  student  next  to  Raphael's  work  ? 
Cinquecento  ornament  generally.  Well,  cin- 
quecento  generally,  with  its  birds,  and  cherubs, 
and  wreathed  foliage,  and  clustered  fruit,  was 
the  amusement  of  men  who  habitually  and 
easily  carved  the  figure,  or  painted  it.  All 
the  truly  fine  specimens  of  it  have  figures  or 
animals  as  main  parts  of  the  design. 


AND    DESIGN.  IOI 

"  Nay,  but,"  some  anciently  or  mediaevally 
minded  person  will  exclaim,  "we  don't  want 
to  study  cinquecento.  We  want  severer,  purer 
conventionalism."  What  will  you  have  ? 
Egyptian  ornament  ?  Why,  the  whole  mass 
of  it  is  made  up  of  multitudinous  human 
figures  in  every  kind  of  action — and  magnifi- 
cent action ;  their  kings  drawing  their  bows  in 
their  chariots,  their  sheaves  of  arrows  rattling 
at  their  shoulders;  the  slain  falling  under 
them  as  before  a  pestilence;  their  captives 
driven  before  them  in  astonied  troops ;  and 
do  you  expect  to  imitate  Egyptian  ornament 
without  knowing  how  to  draw  the  figure  ? 
Nay,  but  you  will  take  Christian  ornament — 
purest  mediaeval  Christian — thirteenth  century  ! 
Yes :  and  do  you  suppose  you  will  find  the 
Christian  less  human  ?  The  least  natural  and 
most  purely  conventional  ornament  of  the 
Gothic  schools  is  that  of  their  painted  glass; 
and  do  you  suppose  painted  glass,  in  the  fine 
times,  was  ever  wrought  without  figures? 
We  have  got  into  the  way,  among  our  other 
modern  wretchedness,  of  trying  to  make 
windows  of  leaf  diapers,  and  of  strips  of 
twisted  red  and  yellow  bands,  looking  like 


IO2     .  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

the  patterns  of  currant  jelly  on  the  top  of 
Christmas  cakes;  but  every  casement  of  old 
glass  contained  a  saint's  history.  The  win- 
dows of  Bourges,  Chartres,  or  Rouen  have 
ten,  fifteen,  or  twenty  medallions  in  each,  and 
each  medallion  contains  two  figures  at  least, 
often  six  or  seven,  representing  every  event 
of  interest  in  the  history  of  the  saint  whose 
life  is  in  question.  Nay,  but,  you  say,  those 
figures  are  rude  and  quaint,  and  ought  not 
to  be  imitated.  Why,  so  is  the  leafage  rude 
and  quaint,  yet  you  imitate  that.  The  coloured 
border  pattern  of  geranium  or  ivy  leaf  is  not 
one  whit  better  drawn,  or  more  like  gera- 
niums and  ivy,  than  the  figures  are  like 
figures ;  but  you  call  the  geranium  leaf  ideal- 
ized— why  don't  you  call  the  figures  so  ?  The 
fact  is,  neither  are  idealized,  but  both  are  con- 
ventionalized on  the  same  principles,  and  in 
the  same  way ;  and  if  you  want  to  learn  how 
to  treat  the  leafage,  the  only  way  is  to  learn 
first  how  to  treat  the  figure.  And  you  may 
soon  test  your  powers  in  this  respect.  Those 
old  workmen  were  not  afraid  of  the  most 
familiar  subjects.  The  windows  of  Chartres 
were  presented  by  the  trades  of  the  town,  and 


AND    DESIGN. 


at  the  bottom  of  each  window  is  a  representa- 
tion of  the  proceedings  of  the  tradesmen  at 
the  business  which  enabled  them  to  pay  for  the 
window.  There  are  smiths  at  the  forge,  curriers 
at  their  hides,  tanners  looking  into  their  pits, 
mercers  selling  goods  over  the  counter  —  all 
made  into  beautiful  medallions.  Therefore, 
whenever  you  want  to  know  whether  you  have 
got  any  real  power  of  composition  or  adapta- 
tion in  ornament,  don't  be  content  with  sticking 
leaves  together  by  the  ends,  —  anybody  can  do 
that  ;  but  try  to  conventionalize  a  butcher's  or 
a  greengrocer's,  with  Saturday  night  customers 
buying  cabbage  and  beef.  That  will  tell  you 
if  you  can  design  or  not. 

83.  I  can  fancy  your  losing  patience  with  me 
altogether  just  now.  "We  asked  this  fellow 
down  to  tell  our  workmen  how  to  make  shawls, 
and  he  is  only  trying  to  teach  them  how 
to  caricature."  But  have:  a  little  patience 
with  me,  and  examine,  after  I  have  done,  a 
little  for  yourselves  into  the  history  of  orna- 
mental art,  and  you  will  discover  why  I  do 
this.  You  will  discover,  I  repeat,  that  all 
great  ornamental  art  whatever  is  founded  on 
the  effort  of  the  workman  to  draw  the  figure, 


IO4  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

and,  in  the  best  schools,  to  draw  all  that  he 
saw  about  him  in  living  nature.  The  best  art 
of  pottery  is  acknowledged  to  be  that  of 
Greece,  and  all  the  power  of  design  exhibited 
in  it,  down  to  the  merest  zigzag,  arises  pri- 
marily from  the  workman  having  been  forced 
to  outline  nymphs  and  knights;  from  those 
helmed  and  draped  figures  he  holds  his  power. 
Of  Egyptian  ornament  I  have  just  spoken. 
You  have  everything  given  there  that  the 
workman  saw ;  people  of  his  nation  employed 
in  hunting,  fighting,  fishing,  visiting,  making 
love,  building,  cooking — everything  they  did 
is  drawn  magnificently  or  familiarly,  as  was 
needed.  In  Byzantine  ornament,  saints,  or 
animals  which  are  types  of  various  spiritual 
power,  are  the  main  subjects;  and  from  the 
church  down  to  the  piece  of  enamelled  metal, 
figure, — figure, — figure,  always  principal.  In 
Norman  and  Gothic  work  you  have,  with  all 
their  quiet  saints,  also  other  much  disquieted 
persons,  hunting,  feasting,  fighting,  and  so  on ; 
or  whole  hordes  of  animals  racing  after  each 
other.  In  the  Bayeux  tapestry,  Queen  Matilda 
gave,  as  well  as  she  could, — in  many  respects 
graphically  enough, — the  whole  history  of  the 


AND    DESIGN. 


conquest  of  England.  Thence,  as  you  increase 
in  power  of  art,  you  have  more  and  more 
finished  figures,  up  to  the  solemn  sculptures 
of  Wells  Cathedral,  or  the  cherubic  enrich- 
ments of  the  Venetian  Madonna  dei  Miracoli. 
Therefore,  I  tell  you  fearlessly,  for  I  know  it 
is  true,  you  must  raise  your  workman  up  to 
life,  or  you  will  never  get  from  him  one  line 
of  well-imagined  conventionalism.  We  have 
at  present  no  good  ornamental  design.  We 
can't  have  it  yet,  and  we  must  be  patient  if 
we  want  to  have  it.  Do  not  hope  to  feel  the 
effect  of  your  schools  at  once,  but  raise  the 
men  as  high  as  you  can,  and  then  let  them 
stoop  as  low  as  you  need;  no  great  man 
ever  minds  stooping.  Encourage  the  students 
in  sketching  accurately  and  continually  from 
nature  anything  that  comes  in  their  way  — 
still  life,  flowers,  animals;  but,  above  all, 
figures  ;  and  so  far  as  you  allow  of  any  dif- 
ference between  an  artist's  training  and  theirs, 
let  it  be,  not  in  what  they  draw,  but  in  the 
degree  of  conventionalism  you  require  in  the 
sketch.  For  my  own  part,  I  should  always 
endeavour  to  give  thorough  artistical  training 
first;  but  I  am  not  certain  (the  experiment 


IO6  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

being  yet  untried)  what  results  may  be  ob- 
tained by  a  truly  intelligent  practice  of  conven- 
tional drawing,  such  as  that  of  the  Egyptians, 
Greeks,  or  thirteenth  century  French,  which 
consists  in  the  utmost  possible '  rendering  of 
natural  form  by  the  fewest  possible  lines. 
The  animal  and  bird  drawing  of  the  Egyp- 
tians is,  in  their  fine  age,  quite  magnifi- 
cent under  its  conditions ;  magnificent  in  two 
ways — first,  in  keenest  perception  of  the 
main  forms  and  facts  in  the  creature;  and, 
secondly,  in  the  grandeur  of  line  by  which 
their  forms  are  abstracted  and  insisted  on, 
making  every  asp,  ibis,  and  vulture  a  sublime 
spectre  of  asp  or  ibis  or  vulture  power.  The 
way  for  students  to  get  some  of  this  gift 
again  (some  only,  for  I  believe  the  fulness  of 
the  gift  itself  to  be  connected  with  vital  super- 
stition, and  with  resulting  intensity  of  re- 
verence ;  people  were  likely  to  know  something 
about  hawks  and  ibises,  when  to  kill  one  was 
to  be  irrevocably  judged  to  death)  is  never 
to  pass  a  day  without  drawing  some  animal 
from  the  life,  allowing  themselves  the  fewest 
possible  lines  and  colours  to  do  it  with,  but 
resolving  that  whatever  is  characteristic  of 


AND    DESIGN. 


the  animal  shall  in  some  way  or  other  be 
shown.*  I  repeat,  it  cannot  yet  be  judged 
what  results  might  be  obtained  by  a  nobly 
practised  conventionalism  of  this  kind  ;  but, 
however  that  may  be,  the  first  fact,  —  the 
necessity  of  animal  and  figure  drawing,  —  is 
absolutely  certain,  and  no  person  who  shrinks 
from  it  will  ever  become  a  great  designer. 
One  great  good  arises  even  from  the  first 
step  in  figure  drawing,  that  it  gets  the  student 
quit  at  once  of  the  notion  of  formal  symmetry. 
If  you  learn  only  to  draw  a  leaf  well,  you  are 
taught  in  some  of  our  schools  to  turn  it  the 
other  way,  opposite  to  itself;  and  the  two 
leaves  set  opposite  ways  are  called  a  "  de- 
sign :  "  and  thus  it  is  supposed  possible  to 
produce  ornamentation,  though  you  have  no 
more  brains  than  a  looking-glass  or  a  kaleido- 
scope has.  But  if  once  you  learn  to  draw  the 
human  figure,  you  will  find  that  knocking  two 
men's  heads  together  does  not  necessarily 
constitute  a  good  design;  nay,  that  it  makes 
very  bad  design,  or  no  design  at  all;  and  you 
will  see  at  once  that  to  arrange  a  group  of 
two  or  more  figures,  you  must,  though  perhaps 

*  Plate  75  in  Vol.  V.  of  Wilkinson's  "Ancient  Egypt" 
will  give  the  student  an  idea  of  how  to  set  to  work. 


IO8  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

it  may  be  desirable  to  balance,  or  oppose  them, 
at  the  same  time  vary  their  attitudes,  and 
make  one,  not  the  reverse  of  the  other,  but 
the  companion  of  the  other. 

84.  I  had  a  somewhat  amusing  discussion 
on  this  subject  with  a  friend,  only  the  other 
day ;  and  one  of  his  retorts  upon  me  was  so 
neatly  put,  and  expresses  so  completely  all 
that  can  either  be  said  or  shown  on  the  oppo- 
site side,  that  it  is  well  worth  while  giving 
it  you  exactly  in  the  form  it  was  sent  to  me. 
My  friend  had  been  maintaining  that  the 
essence  of  ornament  consisted  in  three  things : 
• — contrast,  series,  and  symmetry.  I  replied 
(by  letter)  that  "  none  of  them,  nor  all  of  them 
together,  would  produce  ornament.  Here,"- 
(making  a  ragged  blot  with  the 
back  of  my  pen  on  the  paper) — 
"  you  have  contrast ;  but  it  isn't 
ornament :  here : — i,  2,  3,  4,  5,  6,"— (writing 
tfj>\  the  numerals) — "  you  have 

/[  series;  but    it   isn't   orna- 

ment: and  here," — (sketch- 
ing this  figure  at  the  side) 
— "You  have   symmetry; 
but  it  isn't  ornament." 


AND    DESIGN. 


109 


My  friend  replied  : — "  Your  materials  were 
not  ornament,  because  you  did  not  apply 
them.  I  send  them  to  you  back,  made  up 
into  a  choice  sporting  neckerchief: — 


Symmetrical  figure 

Contrast 

Series    . 


Unit  of  diaper. 
Corner  ornaments. 
Border  ornaments. 


Each  figure  is  converted  into  a  harmony 
by  being  revolved  on  its  two  axes,  the  whole 
opposed  in  contrasting  series." 


HO  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

My  answer  was — or  rather  was  to  the  effect 
(for  I  must  expand  it  a  little,  here) — that  his 
words,  "  because  you  did  not  apply  them/' 
contained  the  gist  of  the  whole  matter; — that 
the  application  of  them,  or  of  any  other  things, 
was  precisely  the  essence  of  design ; — the  non- 
application,  or  wrong  application,  the  negation 
of  design :  that  his  use  of  the  poor  materials 
was  in  this  case  admirable;  and  that,  if  he 
could  explain  to  me,  in  clear  words,  the 
principles  on  which  he  had  so  used  them, 
he  would  be  doing  a  very  great  service  to 
all  students  of  art. 

"Tell  me,  therefore"  (I  asked),  "these 
main  points : 

"  I.  How  did  you  determine  the  number 
of  figures  you  would  put  into  the  necker- 
chief? Had  there  been  more,  it  would  have 
been  mean  and  ineffective, — a  pepper-and-salt 
sprinkling  of  figures.  Had  there  been  fewer, 
it  would  have  been  monstrous.  How  did  you 
fix  the  number  ? 

"  2.  How  did  you  determine  the  breadth  of 
the  border,  and  relative  size  of  the  numerals  ? 

"  3.  Why  are  there  two  lines  outside  of 
the  border,  and  one  only  inside  ?  Why  are 


AND    DESIGN.  Ill 

there  no  more  lines  ?  Why  not  three  and 
two,  or  three  and  five  ?  Why  lines  at  all  to 
separate  the  barbarous  figures;  and  why,  if 
lines  at  all,  not  double  or  treble  instead  of 
single  ? 

"4.  Why  did  you  put  the  double  blots  at 
the  corners  ?  Why  not  at  the  angles  of"  the 
chequers, — or  in  the  middle  of  the  border  ? 

"  It  is  precisely  your  knowing  why  not  to 
do  these  things,  and  why  to  do  just  what  you 
have  done,  which  constituted  your  power  of 
design;  and  like  all  the  people  I  have  ever 
known  who  had  that  power,  you  are  entirely 
unconscious  of  the  essential  laws  by  which 
you  work,  and  confuse  other  people  by  telling 
them  that  the  design  depends  on  symmetry 
and  series,  when,  in  fact,  it  depends  entirely 
on  your  own  sense  and  judgment." 

This  was  the  substance  of  my  last  answer 
—to  which  (as  I  knew  beforehand  would  be 
the  case)  I  got  no  reply ;  but  it  still  remains  to 
be  observed  that  with  all  the  skill  and  taste 
(especially  involving  the  architect's  great  trust, 
harmony  of  proportion),  which  my  friend  could 
bring  to  bear  on  the  materials  given  him, 
the  result  is  still  only — a  sporting  neckerchief 


112  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

— that  is  to  say,  the  materials  addressed, 
first,  to  recklessness,  in  the  shape  of  a  mere 
blot;  then  to  computativeness,  in  a  series  of 
figures ;  and  then  to  absurdity  and  ignorance, 
in  the  shape  of  an  ill-drawn  caricature — such 
materials,  however  treated,  can  only  work  up 
into  what  will  please  reckless,  computative, 
and  vulgar  persons, — that  is  to  say,  into  a 
sporting  neckerchief.  The  difference  between 
this  piece  of  ornamentation  and  Correggio's 
painting  at  Parma  lies  simply  and  wholly  in 
the  additions  (somewhat  large  ones,)  of  truth 
and  of  tenderness  :  in  the  drawing  being  lovely 
as  well  as  symmetrical — and  representative  of 
realities  as  well  as  agreeably  disposed.  And 
truth,  tenderness,  and  inventive  application  or 
disposition  are  indeed  the  roots  of  ornament — 
not  contrast,  nor  symmetry. 

85.  It  ought  yet  farther  to  be  observed,  that 
the  nobler  the  materials,  the  less  their  symmetry 
is  endurable.  In  the  present  case,  the  sense 
of  fitness  and  order,  produced  by  the  repetition 
of  the  figures,  neutralizes,  in  some  degree, 
their  reckless  vulgarity ;  and  is  wholly,  there- 
fore, beneficent  to  them.  But  draw  the  figures 
better,  and  their  repetition  will  become  painful. 


AND    DESIGN.  113 

You  may  harmlessly  balance  a  mere  geome- 
trical form,  and  oppose  one  quatrefoil  or  cusp 
by  another  exactly  like  it.  But  put  two  Apollo 
Belvideres  back  to  back,  and  you  will  not  think 
the  symmetry  improves  them.  Whenever  tlie 
materials  of  ornament  are  noble  they  must  be 
various ;  and  repetition  of  parts  is  either  the 
sign  of  utterly  bad,  hopeless,  and  base  work; 
or  of  the  intended  degradation  of  the  parts  in 
which  such  repetition  is  allowed,  in  order  to 
foil  others  more  noble. 

86.  Such,  then,  are  a  few  of  the  great 
principles,  by  the  enforcement  of  which  you 
may  hope  to  promote  the  success  of  the  modern 
student  of  design ;  but  remember,  none  of  these 
principles  will  be  useful  at  all,  unless  you 
understand  them  to  be,  in  one  profound  and 
stern  sense,  useless.* 

That  is  to  say,  unless  you  feel  that  neither 
you  nor  I,  nor  any  one,  can,  in  the  great 
ultimate  sense,  teach  anybody  how  to  make  a 
good  design. 

If  designing  could  be  taught,  all  the  world 

*  I  shall  endeavour  for  the  future  to  put  my  self-con- 
tradictions in  short  sentences  and  direct  terms,  in  order  to 
save  sagacious  persons  the  trouble  of  looking  for  them. 

II 


114  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

would  learn;  as  all  the  world  reads — o 
calculates.  But  designing  is  not  to  be  spelled 
nor  summed.  My  men  continually  come  t< 
me,  in  my  drawing  class  in  London,  think 
ing  I  am  to  teach  them  what  is  instantly  t< 
enable  them  to  gain  their  bread.  "  Please,  sir 
show  us  how  to  design."  "  Make  designer: 
of  us."  And  you,  I  doubt  not,  partly  expec 
me  to  tell  you  to-night  how  to  make  designer; 
of  your  Bradford  youths.  Alas !  I  could  a: 
soon  tell  you  how  to  make  or  manufactun 
an  ear  of  wheat,  as  to  make  a  good  artis 
of  any  kind.  I  can  analyze  the  wheat  ver 
learnedly  for  you — and  tell  you  there  is  starcl 
in  it,  and  carbon,  and  silex.  I  can  give  yoi 
starch,  and  charcoal,  and  flint;  but  you  ar< 
as  far  from  your  ear  of  wheat  as  you  wer< 
before.  All  that  can  possibly  be  done  fo 
any  one  who  wants  ears  of  wheat  is  to  sho~v 
them  where  to  find  grains  of  wheat,  and  ho\ 
to  sow  them,  and  then,  with  patience,  ii 
Heaven's  time,  the  ears  will  come — or  will  per 
haps  come — ground  and  weather  permitting 
So  in  this  matter  of  making  artists — first  yoi 
must  find  your  artist  in  the  grain ;  then  yoi 
must  plant  him;  fence  and  weed  the  fieL 


AND    DESIGN.  I  I  5 

about  him;  and  with  patience,  ground  and 
weather  permitting,  you  may  get  an  artist  out 
of  him — not  otherwise.  And  what  I  have  to 
speak  to  you  about,  to-night,  is  mainly  the 
ground  and  the  weather,  it  being  the  first 
and  quite  most  material  question  in  this 
matter,  whether  the  ground  and  weather  of 
Bradford,  or  the  ground  and  weather  of 
England  in  general, — suit  wheat. 

87.  :And  observe  in  the  outset,  it  is  not 
so  much  what  the  present  circumstances  o5 
England  are,  as  what  we  wish  to  make  them, 
that  we  have  to  consider.  If  you  will  tell 
me  what  you  ultimately  intend  Bradford  to 
be,  perhaps  I  can  tell  you  what  Bradford  can 
ultimately  produce.  But  you  must  have  your 
minds  clearly  made  up,  and  be  distinct  in 
telling  me  what  you  do  want.  At  present 
I  don't  know  what  you  are  aiming  at,  and 
possibly  on  consideration  you  may  feel  some 
doubt  whether  you  know  yourselves.  As 
matters  stand,  all  over  England,  as  soon  as 
one  mill  is  at  work,  occupying  two  hundred 
hands,  we  try,  by  means  of  it,  to  set  another 
mill  at  work,  occupying  four  hundred.  That 
is  all  simple  and  comprehensible  enough — 


Il6  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

but  what  is  it  to  come  to  ?  How  many  mills 
do  we  want  ?  or  do  we  indeed  want  no  end  of 
mills  ?  Let  us  entirely  understand  each  other 
on  this  point  before  we  go  any  farther.  Last 
week,  I  drove  from  Rochdale  to  Bolton  Abbey ; 
quietly,  in  order  to  see  the  country,  and 
certainly  it  was  well  worth  while.  I  never 
went  over  a  more  interesting  twenty  miles 
than  those  between  Rochdale  and  Burnley. 
Naturally,  the  valley  has  been  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  in  the  Lancashire  hills;  one  of 
the  far  away  solitudes,  full  of  old  shepherd 
ways  of  life.  At  this  time  there  are  not, 
— I  speak  deliberately,  and  I  believe  quite 
literally, — there  are  not,  I  think,  more  than  a 
thousand  yards  of  road  to  be  traversed  any- 
where, without  passing  a  furnace  or  mill. 

88.  Now,  is  that  the  kind  of  thing  you  want 
to  come  to  everywhere  ?  Because,  if  it  be, 
and  you  tell  me  so  distinctly,  I  think  I  can 
make  several  suggestions  to-night,  and  could 
make  more  if  you  give  me  time,  which  would 
materially  advance  your  object.  (The  extent 
of  our  operations  at  present  is  more  or  less 
limited  by  the  extent  of  coal  and  iron-stone,  but 
we  have  not  yet  learned  to  make  proper  use 


AND    DESIGN. 


of  our  clay.  Over  the  greater  part  of  England, 
south  of  the  manufacturing  districts,  there  are 
magnificent  beds  of  various  kinds  of  useful 
clay;  and  I  believe  that  it  would  not  be 
difficult  to  point  out  modes  of  employing  it 
which  might  enable  us  to  turn  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  south  of  England  into  a  brick- 
field, as  we  have  already  turned  nearly  the 
whole  of  the  north  into  a  coal-pit.  J  say 
"nearly"  the  whole,  because,  as  you  are 
doubtless  aware,  there  are  considerable  districts 
in  the  south  composed  of  chalk,  renowned  up\ 
to  the  present  time  for  their  downs  and 
mutton.  But,  I  think,  by  examining  carefully 
into  the  conceivable  uses  of  chalk,  we  might 
discover  a  quite  feasible  probability  of  turn- 
ing all  the  chalk  districts  into  a  limekiln,  as 
we  turn  the  clay  districts  into  a  brick-field.  / 
There  would  then  remain  nothing  but  the 
mountain  districts  to  be  dealt  with;  but,  as 
we  have  not  yet  ascertained  all  the  uses  of  clay 
and  chalk,  still  less  have  we  ascertained  those 
of  stone  ;  and  I  think,  by  draining  the  useless 
inlets  of  the  Cumberland,  Welsh,  and  Scotch 
lakes,  and  turning  them,  with  their  rivers, 
into  navigable  reservoirs  and  canals,  there 


Il8  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

would  be  no  difficulty  in  working  the  whole 
of  our  mountain  districts  as  a  gigantic  quarry 
of  slate  and  granite,  from  which  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  might  be  supplied  with  roofing 
and  building  stone.  [ 

89.  Is  this,  then,  what  you  want  ?  You  are 
going  straight  at  it  at  present;  and  I  have 
only  to  ask  under  what  limitations  I  am  to 
conceive  or  describe  your  final  success  ?  Or 
shall  there  be  no  limitations  ?  There  are  none 
to  your  powers;  every  day  puts  new  machi- 
nery at  your  disposal,  and  increases,  with  your 
capital,  the  vastness  of  your  undertakings. 
The  changes  in  the  state  of  this  country  are 
now  so  rapid,  that  it  would  be  wholly  absurd 
to  endeavour  to  lay  down  laws  of  art  education 
for  it  under  its  present  aspect  and  circum- 
stances ;  and  therefore  I  must  necessarily  ask, 
how  much  of  it  do  you  seriously  intend  within 
the  next  fifty  years  to  be  coal-pit,  brick-field, 
or  quarry  ?  For  the  sake  of  distinctness  of 
conclusion,  I  will  suppose  your  success  abso- 
lute: that  from  shore  to  shore  the  whole  of 
the  island  is  to  be  set  as  thick  with  chimneys 
as  the  masts  stand  in  the  docks  of  Liver- 
pool :  that  there  shall  be  no  meadows  in  it ;  no 


AND    DESIGN.  I IQ 

trees;  no  gardens;  only  a  little  corn  grown 
upon  the  housetops,  reaped  and  threshed  by 
steam :  that  you  do  not  leave  even  room  for 
roads,  but  travel  either  over  the  roofs  of  your 
mills,  on  viaducts ;  or  under  their  floors,  in 
tunnels :  that,  the  smoke  having  rendered  the 
light  of  the  sun  unserviceable,  you  work  always 
by  the  light  of  your  own  gas :  that  no  acre 
of  English  ground  shall  be  without  its  shaft 
and  its  engine;  and  therefore,  no  spot  of 
English  ground  left,  on  which  it  shall  be 
possible  to  stand,  without  a  definite  and  cal- 
culable chance  of  being  blown  off  it,  at  any 
moment,  into  small  pieces. 

90.  Under  these  circumstances,  (if  this  is 
to  be  the  future  of  England,)  no  designing  or 
any  other  development  of  beautiful  art  will 
be  possible.  Do  not  vex  your  minds,  nor 
waste  your  money  with  any  thought  or  effort 
in  the  matter.  Beautiful  art  can  only  be  pro- 
duced by  people  who  have  beautiful  things 
about  them,  and  leisure  to  look  at  them;  and 
unless  you  provide  some  elements  of  beauty 
for  your  workmen  to  be  surrounded  by,  you 
will  find  that  no  elements  of  beauty  can  be 
invented  by  them. 


I2O  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

91.  I  was  struck  forcibly  by  the  bearing  of 
this  great  fact  upon  our  modern  efforts  at  orna- 
mentation in  an  afternoon  walk,  last  week,  in 
the  suburbs  of  one  of  our  large  manufacturing 
towns.  I  was  thinking  of  the  difference  in  the 
effect  upon  the  designer's  mind,  between  the 
scene  which  I  then  came  upon,  and  the  scene 
which  would  have  presented  itself  to  the  eyes 
of  any  designer  of  the  middle  ages,  when 
he  left  his  workshop.  Just  outside  the  town  I 
came  upon  an  old  English  cottage,  or  mansion, 
I  hardly  know  which  to  call  it,  set  close  under 
the  hill,  and  beside  the  river,  perhaps  built 
somewhere  in  the  Charleses'  times,  with  mul- 
lioned  windows  and  a  low  arched  porch ;  round 
which,  in  the  little  triangular  garden,  one  can 
imagine  the  family  as  they  used  to  sit  in  old 
summer  times,  the  ripple  of  the  river  heard 
faintly  through  the  sweetbriar  hedge,  and  the 
sheep  on  the  far-off  wolds  shining  in  the  even- 
ing sunlight.  There,  uninhabited  for  many 
and  many  a  year,  it  had  been  left  in  unre-. 
garded  havoc  of  ruin ;  the  garden-gate  still 
swung  loose  to  its  latch ;  the  garden,  blighted 
utterly  into  a  field  of  ashes,  not  even  a  weed 
taking  root  there ;  the  roof  torn  into  shapeless 


AND    DESIGN.  121 

rents ;  the  shutters  hanging  about  the  windows 
in  rags  of  rotten  wood;  before  its  gate,  the 
stream  which  had  gladdened  it  now  soaking 
slowly  by,  black  as  ebony  and  thick  with 
curdling  scum ;  the  bank  above  it  trodden  into 
unctuous,  sooty  slime :  far  in  front  of  it,  be- 
tween it  and  the  old  hills,  the  furnaces  of  the 
city  foaming  forth  perpetual  plague  of  sul- 
phurous darkness ;  the  volumes  of  their  storm 
clouds  coiling  low  over  a  waste  of  grassless 
fields,  fenced  from  each  other,  not  by  hedges, 
but  by  slabs  of  square  stone,  like  gravestones, 
riveted  together  with  iron. 

That  was  your  scene  for  the  designer's  con- 
templation in  his  afternoon  walk  at  Rochdale. 
Now  fancy  what  was  the  scene  which  pre- 
sented itself,  in  his  afternoon  walk,  to  a 
designer  of  the  Gothic  school  of  Pisa — Nino 
Pisano,  or  any  of  his  men. 

On  each  side  of  a  bright  river  he  saw  rise 
a  line  of  brighter  palaces,  arched  and  pillared, 
and  inlaid  with  deep  red  porphyry,  and  with 
serpentine ;  along  the  quays  before  their  gates 
were  riding  troops  of  knights,  noble  in  face 
and  form,  dazzling  in  crest  and  shield ;  horse 
and  man  one  labyrinth  of  quaint  colour  and 


if  OF  THF  * 

I    UNIVERSITY   1 


122  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

gleaming  light — the  purple,  and  silver,  and 
scarlet  fringes  flowing  over  the  strong  limbs 
and  clashing  mail,  like  sea-waves  over  rocks 
at  sunset.  Opening  on  each  side  from  the 
river  were  gardens,  courts,  and  cloisters ;  long 
successions  of  white  pillars  among  wreaths  of 
vine ;  leaping  of  fountains  through  buds  of 
pomegranate  and  orange :  and  still  along  the 
garden  paths,  and  under  and  through  the 
crimson  of  the  pomegranate  shadows,  moving 
slowly,  groups  of  the  fairest  women  that  Italy 
ever  saw — fairest,  because  purest  and  thought- 
fullest  ;  trained  in  all  high  knowledge,  as  in  all 
courteous  art — in  dance,  in  song,  in  sweet  wit, 
in  lofty  learning,  in  loftier  courage,  in  loftiest 
love — able  alike  to  cheer,  to  enchant,  or  save, 
the  souls  of  men.  Above  all  this  scenery  of 
perfect  human  life,  rose  dome  and  bell-tower, 
burning  with  white  alabaster  and  gold :  be- 
yond dome  and  bell-tower  the  slopes  of  mighty 
hills,  hoary  with  olive ;  far  in  the  north,  above 
a  purple  sea  of  peaks  of  solemn  Apennine,  the 
clear,  sharp-cloven  Carrara  mountains  sent  up 
their  steadfast  flames  of  marble  summit  into 
amber  sky ;  the  great  sea  itself,  scorching  with 
expanse  of  light,  stretching  from  their  feet  to 


AND    DESIGN.  123 

the  Gorgonian  isles ;  and  over  all  these,  ever 
present,  near  or  far — seen  through  the  leaves 
of  vine,  or  imaged  with  all  its  march  of  clouds 
in  the  Arno's  stream,  or  set  with  its  depth  of 
blue  close  against  the  golden  hair  and  burning 
cheek  of  lady  and  knight, — that  untroubled 
and  sacred  sky,  which  was  to  all  men,  in  those 
days  of  innocent  faith,  indeed  the  unquestioned 
abode  of  spirits,  as  the  earth  was  of  men; 
and  which  opened  straight  through  its  gates  of 
cloud  and  veils  of  dew  into  the  awfulness  of 
the  eternal  world; — a  heaven  in  which  every 
cloud  that  passed  was  literally  the  chariot  of 
an  angel,  and  every  ray  of  its  Evening  and 
Morning  streamed  from  the  throne  of  God. 

What  think  you  of  that  for  a  school  of 
f  design  ? 

92.  I  do  not  bring  this  contrast  before  you 
as  a  ground  of  hopelessness  in  our  task; 
neither  do  I  look  for  any  possible  renovation  of 
the  Republic  of  Pisa,  at  Bradford,  in  the  nine- 
teenth century;  but  I  put  it  before  you  in 
order  that  you  may  be  aware  precisely  of  the 
kind  of  difficulty  you  have  to  meet,  and  may  then 
consider  with  yourselves  how  far  you  can  meet 
it.  To  men  surrounded  by  the  depressing 


124  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

and  monotonous  circumstances  of  English 
manufacturing  life,  depend  upon  it,  design  is 
simply  impossible.  This  is  the  most  distinct 
of  all  the  experiences  I  have  had  in  dealing 
with  the  modern  workman.  He  is  intelligent 
and  ingenious  in  the  highest  degree — subtle  in 
touch  and  keen  in  sight :  but  he  is,  generally 
speaking,  wholly  destitute  of  designing  power. 
And  if  you  want  to  give  him  the  power,  you 
must  give  him  the  materials,  and  put  him  in 
the  circumstances  for  it.  Design  is  not  the  off- 
spring of  idle  fancy :  it  is  the  studied  result  of 
accumulative  observation  and  delightful  habit. 
Without  observation  and  experience,  no  design 
— without  peace  and  pleasurableness  in  occu- 
pation, no  design — and  all  the  lecturings,  and 
teachings,  and  prizes,  and  principles  of  art, 
in  the  world,  are  of  no  use,  so  long  as  you 
don't  surround  your  men  with  happy  influences 
and  beautiful  things.  It  is  impossible  for 
them  to  have  right  ideas  about  colour,  unless 
they  see  the  lovely  colours  of  nature  un- 
spoiled; impossible  for  them  to  supply  beau- 
tiful incident  and  action  in  their  ornament, 
unless  they  see  beautiful  incident  and  action  in 
the  world  about  them.  Inform  their  minds, 


AND    DESIGN.  125 

refine  their  habits,  and  you  form  and  refine 
their  designs ;  but  keep  them  illiterate,  uncom- 
fortable, and  in  the  midst  of  unbeautiful  things, 
and  whatever  they  do  will  still  be  spurious, 
vulgar,  and  valueless. 

I  repeat,  that  I  do  not  ask  you  nor  wish 
you  to  build  a  new  Pisa  for  them.  We  don't 
want  either  the  life  or  the  decorations  of  the, 
thirteenth  century  back  again;  and  the  cir- 
cumstances with  which  you  must  surround 
your  workmen  are  those  simply  of  happy 
modern  English  life,  because  the  designs  you 
have  now  to  ask  for  from  your  workmen  are 
such  as  will  make  modern  English  life  beauti- 
ful. All  that  gorgeousness  of  the  Middle 
Ages,  beautiful  as  it  sounds  in  description, 
noble  as  in  many  respects  it  was  in  reality, 
had,  nevertheless,  for  foundation  and  for  end, 
nothing  but  the  pride  of  life — the  pride  of 
the  so-called  superior  classes ;  a  pride  which 
supported  itself  by  violence  and  robbery,  and 
led  in  the  end  to  the  destruction  both  of  the 
arts  themselves  and  the  States  in  which  they 
flourished. 

93.  The  great  lesson  of  history  is,  that  all 
the  fine  arts  hitherto — having  been  supported 


126  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

by  the  selfish  power  of  the  noblesse,  and 
never  having  extended  their  range  to  the 
comfort  or  the  relief  of  the  mass  of  the  people 
— the  arts,  I  say,  thus  practised,  and  thus 
matured,  have  only  accelerated  the  ruin  of 
the  States  they  adorned;  and  at  the  moment 
when,  in  any  kingdom,  you  point  to  the  tri- 
umphs of  its  greatest  artists,  you  point  also 
to  the  determined  hour  of  the  kingdom's 
decline.  The  names  of  great  painters  are 
like  passing  bells :  in  the  name  of  Velasquez, 
you  hear  sounded  the  fall  of  Spain;  in  the 
name  of  Titian,  that  of  Venice;  in  the  name 
of  Leonardo,  that  of  Milan ;  in  the  name  of 
Raphael,  that  of  Rome.  And  there  is  pro- 
found justice  in  this;  for  in  proportion  to 
the  nobleness  of  the  power  is  the  guilt  of 
its  use  for  purposes  vain  or  vile ;  and  hither- 
to the  greater  the  art,  the  more  surely  has 
it  been  used,  and  used  solely,  for  the  'decora- 
tion of  pride,  *  or  the  provoking  of  sensuality. 
Another  course  lies  open  to  us.  We  may 
abandon  the  hope — or  if  you  like  the  words 
better — we  may  disdain  the  temptation,  of  the 

*  "Whether  religious  or  profane  pride, — chapel — or  ban- 
queting room, — is  no  matter. 


AND    DESIGN.  I2/ 

pomp  and  grace  of  Italy  in  her  youth.  For 
us  there  can  be  no  more  the  throne  of  marble 
— for  us  no  more  the  vault  of  gold — but  for 
us  there  is  the  loftier  and  lovelier  privilege 
of  bringing  the  power  and  charm  of  art  within 
the  reach  of  the  humble  and  the  poor;  and 
as  the  magnificence  of  past  ages  failed  by 
its  narrowness  and  its  pride,  ours  may  pre- 
vail and  continue,  by  its  universality  and 
its  lowliness. 

94.  And  thus,   between  the  picture  of  too 
laborious    England,    which    we    imagined    as 
future,  and  the  picture  of  too  luxurious  Italy, 
which  we  remember  in  the  past,   there  may 
exist — there  will  exist,  if  we  do  our  duty — 
an   intermediate   condition,  neither   oppressed 
by   labour    nor   wasted    in    vanity — the    con- 
dition of  a  peaceful  and  thoughtful  temperance 
in  aims,  and  acts,  and  arts. 

95.  We  are  about  to  enter  upon  a  period 
of  our  world's  history  in  which  domestic  life, 
aided  by  the  arts  of  peace,  will  slowly,  but 
at  last  entirely,  supersede  public  life  and  the 
arts  of  war.     For  our  own  England,  she  will 
not,    I    believe,    be    blasted    throughout   with 
furnaces;   nor  will   she  be  encumbered  with 


128  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

palaces.  I  trust  she  will  keep  her  green  fields, 
her  cottages,  and  her  homes  of  middle  life ; 
but  these  ought  to  be,  and  I  trust  will  be, 
enriched  with  a  useful,  truthful,  substantial 
form  of  art.  We  want  now  no  more  feasts 
of  the  gods,  nor  martyrdoms  of  saints;  we 
have  no  need  of  sensuality,  no  place  for 
superstition,  or  for  costly  insolence.  Let  us 
have  learned  and  faithful  historical  painting 
* — touching  and  thoughtful  representations  of 
human  nature,  in  dramatic  painting;  poetical 
and  familiar  renderings  of  natural  objects  and 
of  landscape ;  and  rational,  deeply- felt  reali- 
zations of  the  events  which  are  the  subjects 
of  our  religious  faith.  And  let  these  things  we 
want,  as  far  as  possible,  be  scattered  abroad 
and  made  accessible  to  all  men. 

96.  So  also,  in  manufacture :  we  require 
work  substantial  rather  than  rich  in  make; 
and  refined,  rather  than  splendid  in  design. 
Your  stuffs  need  not  be  such  as  would  catch 
the  eye  of  a  duchess;  but  they  should  be 
such  as  may  at  once  serve  the  need,  and 
refine  the  taste,  of  a  cottager.  The  prevail- 
ing error  in  English  dress,  especially  among 
the  lower  orders,  is  a  tendency  to  flimsiness 


AND    DESIGN.  129 

and  gaudiness,  arising  mainly  from  the  awk- 
ward imitation  of  their  superiors.*  It  should 
be  one  of  the  first  objects  of  all  manufac- 
turers to  produce  stuffs  not  only  beautiful  and 
quaint  in  design,  but  also  adapted  for  every- 
day service,  and  decorous  in  humble  and  se- 
cluded life.  And  you  must  remember  always 
that  your  business,  as  manufacturers,  is  to 
form  the  market,  as  much  as  to  supply  it. 
If,  in  short-sighted  and  reckless  eagerness 
for  wealth,  you  catch  at  every  humour  of  the 
populace  as  it  shapes  itself  into  momentary 
demand — if,  in  jealous  rivalry  with  neighbour- 
ing States,  or  with  other  producers,  you  try 
to  attract  attention  by  singularities,  novelties, 
and  gaudinesses — to  make  every  design  an 
advertisement,  and  pilfer  every  idea  of  a  suc- 
cessful neighbour's,  that  you  may  insidiously 

*  If  their  superiors  would  give  them  simplicity  and 
economy  to  imitate,  it  would,  in  the  issue,  be  well  for 
themselves,  as  well  as  for  those  whom  they  guide.  The 
typhoid  fever  of  passion  for  dress,  and  all  other  display, 
which  has  struck  the  upper  classes  of  Europe  at  this  time, 
is  one  of  the  most  dangerous  political  elements  we  have  to 
deal  with.  Its  wickedness  I  have  shown  elsewhere  (Polit. 
Economy  of  Art,  p.  62,  et  seq.  [Now  "A  Joy  for  Ever," 
§  46,  et  seq.~\ ) ;  but  its  wickedness  is,  in  the  minds  of  most 
persons,  a  matter  of  no  importance.  I  wish  I  had  time  also 

T 


I3O  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

imitate  it,  or  pompously  eclipse — no  good 
design  will  ever  be  possible  to  you,  or  per- 
ceived by  you.  You  may,  by  accident,  snatch 
the  market ;  or,  by  energy,  command  it ;  you 
may  obtain  the  confidence  of  the  public,  and 
cause  the  ruin  of  opponent  houses;  or  you 
may,  with  equal  justice  of  fortune,  be  ruined 
by  them.  But  whatever  happens  to  you,  this, 
at  least,  is  certain,  that  the  whole  of  your  life 
will  have  been  spent  in  corrupting  public 
taste  and  encouraging  public  extravagance. 
Every  preference  you  have  won  by  gaudiness 
must  have  been  based  on  the  purchaser's 
vanity;  every  demand  you  have  created  by 
novelty  has  fostered  in  the  consumer  a  habit 
of  discontent;  and  when  you  retire  into  in- 
active life,  you  may,  as  a  subject  of  consola- 
tion for  your  declining  years,  reflect  that 

to  show  them  its  danger.  I  cannot  enter  here  into  political 
investigation  ;  but  this  is  a  certain  fact,  that  the  wasteful  and 
vain  expenses  at  present  indulged  in  by  the  upper  classes  are 
hastening  the  advance  of  republicanism  more  than  any  other 
element  of  modern  change.  No  agitators,  no  clubs,  no 
epidemical  errors,  ever  were,  or  will  be,  fatal  to  social  order 
in  any  nation.  Nothing  but  the  guilt  of  the  upper  classes, 
wanton,  accumulated,  reckless,  and  merciless,  ever  over- 
throws them.  Of  such  guilt  they  have  now  much  to  answer 
for — let  them  look  to  it  in  time. 


AND    DESIGN. 


precisely  according  to  the  extent  of  your  past 
operations,  your  life  has  been  successful  in 
retarding  the  arts,  tarnishing  the  virtues,  and 
confusing  the  manners  of  your  country. 

97.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  you  resolve 
from  the  first  that,  so  far  as  you  can  ascer- 
tain or  discern  what  is  best,  you  will  produce 
what  is  best,  on  an  intelligent  consideration 
of  the  probable  tendencies  and  possible  tastes 
of  the  people  whom  you  supply,  you  may 
literally  become  more  influential  for  all  kinds 
of  good  than  many  lecturers  on  art,  or  many 
treatise-writers  on  morality.  Considering  the 
materials  dealt  with,  and  the  crude  state  of 
art  knowledge  at  the  time,  I  do  not  know  that 
any  more  wide  or  effective  influence  in  public 
taste  was  ever  exercised  than  that  of  the 
Staffordshire  manufacture  of  pottery  under 
William  Wedgwood;  and  it  only  rests  with 
the  manufacturer  in  every  other  business  to 
determine  whether  he  will,  in  like  manner, 
make  his  wares  educational  instruments,  or 
mere  drugs  of  the  market.  You  all  should 
be,  in  a  certain  sense,  authors  :  you  must, 
indeed,  first  catch  the  public  eye,  as  an  author 
must  the  public  ear;  but  once  gain  your 


132  MODERN    MANUFACTURE 

audience,  or  observance,  and  as  it  is  in  the 
writer's  power  thenceforward  to  publish  what 
will  educate  as  it  amuses — so  it  is  in  yours 
to  publish  what  will  educate  as  it  adorns. 
Nor  is  this  surely  a  subject  of  poor  ambition. 
I  hear  it  said  continually  that  men  are  too 
ambitious  :  alas !  to  me,  it  seems,  they  are 
never  enough  ambitious.  How  many  are 
content  to  be  merely  the  thriving  merchants 
of  a  state,  when  they  might  be  its  guides, 
counsellors,  and  rulers — wielding  powers  of 
subtle  but  gigantic  beneficence,  in  restraining 
its  follies  while  they  supplied  its  wants.  Let 
such  duty,  such  ambition,  be  once  accepted  in 
their  fulness,  and  the  best  glory  of  European 
art  and  of  European  manufacture  may  yet 
be  to  come.  The  paintings  of  Raphael  and 
of  Buonaroti  gave  force  to  the  falsehoods  of 
superstition,  and  majesty  to  the  imaginations 
of  sin ;  but  the  arts  of  England  may  have,  for 
their  task,  to  inform  the  soul  with  truth,  and 
touch  the  heart  with  compassion.  The  steel 
of  Toledo  and  the  silk  of  Genoa  did  but  give 
strength  to  oppression  and  lustre  to  pride : 
let  it  be  for  the  furnace  and  for  the  loom  of 
England,  as  they  have  already  richly  earned, 


AND    DESIGN.  133 

still  more  abundantly  to  bestow,  comfort  on 
the  indigent,  civilization  on  the  rude,  and  to 
dispense,  through  the  peaceful  homes  of  na- 
tions, the  grace  and  the  preciousness  of  simple 
adornment,  and  useful  possession. 


LECTURE  IV. 

INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION    IN    ARCHITECTURE. 

An  Address  delivered  to  the  Members  of  the  Architectural 
Association,  in  Lyorfs  Inn  Hall,  January  2.ydt  1857. 

98.  IF  we  were  to  be  asked  abruptly,  and 
required  to  answer  briefly,  what  qualities 
chiefly  distinguish  great  artists  from  feeble 
artists,  we  should  answer,  I  suppose,  first, 
their  sensibility  and  tenderness;  secondly, 
their  imagination;  and  thirdly,  their  industry. 
Some  of  us  might,  perhaps,  doubt  the  justice 
of  attaching  so  much  importance  to  this 
last  character,  because  we  have  all  known 
clever  men  who  were  indolent,  and  dull  men 
who  were  industrious.  But  though  you  may 
have  known  clever  men  who  were  indolent, 
you  never  knew  a  great  man  who  was  so; 
and,  during  such  investigation  as  I  have  been 
able  to  give  to  the  lives  of  the  artists  whose 

works  are  in  all  points  noblest,  no  fact  ever 

134 


INFLUENCE  OF  IMAGINATION  IN  ARCHITECTURE.   135 

looms  so  large  upon  me — no  law  remains  so 
steadfast  in  the  universality  of  its  application, 
— as  the  fact  and  law  that  they  are  all  great 
workers :  nothing  concerning  them  is  matter 
of  more  astonishment  than  the  quantity  they 
have  accomplished  in  the  given  length  of 
their  life;  and  when  I  hear  a  young  man 
spoken  of,  as  giving  promise  of  high  genius, 
the  first  question  I  ask  about  him  is  always — 

Does  he  work  ? 

99.  But  though  this  quality  of  industry  is 
essential  to  an  artist,  it  does  not  in  any  wise 
make  an  artist ;  many  people  are  busy,  whose 
doings  are  little  worth.  Neither  does  sensi- 
bility make  an  artist;  since,  as  I  hope,  many 
can  feel  both  strongly  and  nobly,  who  yet 
care  nothing  about  art.  But  the  gifts  which 
distinctively  mark  the  artist — without  which 
he  must  be  feeble  in  life,  forgotten  in  death — 
with  which  he  may  become  one  of  the  shakers 
of  the  earth,  and  one  of  the  single  lights  in 
heaven — are  those  of  sympathy  and  imagina- 
tion. I  will  not  occupy  your  time,  nor  incur 
the  risk  of  your  dissent,  by  endeavouring  to 
give  any  close  definition  of  this  last  word. 
We  all  have  a  general  and  sufficient  idea  of 


136  INFLUENCE    CCF    IMAGINATION 

imagination,  and  of  its  work  with  our  hands 
and  in  our  hearts :  we  understand  it,  I  sup- 
pose, as  the  imaging  or  picturing  of  new  things 
in  our  thoughts ;  and  we  always  show  an  in- 
voluntary respect  for  this  power,  wherever 
we  can  recognise  it,  acknowledging  it  to  be 

I  a  greater  power  than  manipulation,  or  calcu- 
lation, or  observation,  or  any  other  human 

x^Jaculty.  If  we  see  an  old  woman  spinning 
at  the  fireside,  and  distributing  her  thread 
dexterously  from  the  distaff,  we  respect  her 
for  her  manipulation — if  we  ask  her  how 
much  she  expects  to  make  in  a  year,  and  she 
answers  quickly,  we  respect  her  for  her  cal- 
culation— if  she  is  watching  at  the  same  time 
that  none  of  her  grandchildren  fall  into  the 
fire,  we  respect  her  for  her  observation — yet 
for  all  this  she  may  still  be  a  commonplace  old 
woman  enough.  But  if  she  is  all  the  time 
telling  her  grandchildren  a  fairy  tale  out  of 
her  head,  we  praise  her  for  her  imagination, 
and  say,  she  must  be  a  rather  remarkable  old 
woman. 

100.  Precisely  in  like  manner,  if  an  architect 
does  his  working-drawing  well,  we  praise  him 
for  his  manipulation — if  he  keeps  closely 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  137 

within  his  contract,  we  praise  him  for  his 
honest  arithmetic — if  he  looks  well  to  the  laying 
of  his  beams,  so  that  nobody  shall  drop  through 
the  floor,  we  praise  him  for  his  observation. 
But  he  must,  somehow,  tell  us  a  fairy  tale 
out  of  his  head  beside  all  this,  else  we  can- 
not praise  him  for  his  imagination,  nor  speak 
of  him  as  we  did  of  the  old  woman,  as  being 
in  any  wise  out  of  the  common  way,  a  rather 
remarkable  architect.  It  seemed  to  me,  there- 
fore, as  if  it  might  interest  you  to-night,  if 
we  were  to  consider  together  what  fairy  tales 
are,  in  and  by  architecture,  to  be  told — what 
there  is  for  you  to  do  in  this  severe  art  of 
yours  "out  of  your  heads,"  as  well  as  by 
your  hands. 

101.  Perhaps  the  first  idea  which  a  young 
architect  is  apt  to  be  allured  by,  as  a  head- 
problem  in  these  experimental  days,  is  its 
being  incumbent  upon  him  to  invent  a  "new 
style  "  worthy  of  modern  civilization  in  general, 
and  of  England  in  particular;  a  style"  worthy 
of  our  engines  and  telegraphs;  as  expansive 
as  steam,  and  as  sparkling  as  electricity. 
But,  if  there  are  any  of  my  hearers  who  have 
been  impressed  with  this  sense  of  inventive 


138  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

duty,  may  I  ask  them,  first,  whether  their 
plan  is  that  every  inventive  architect  among 
us  shall  invent  a  new  style  for  himself,  and 
have  a  county  set  aside  for  his  conceptions,  or 
a  province  for  his  practice  ?  Or,  must  every 
architect  invent  a  little  piece  of  the  new  style, 
and  all  put  it  together  at  last  like  a  dissected 
map  ?  And  if  so,  when  the  new  style  is 
invented,  what  is  to  be  done  next  ?  I  will 
grant  you  this  Eldorado  of  imagination — but 
can  you  have  more  than  one  Columbus  ?  Or, 
if  you  sail  in  company,  and  divide  the  prize 
of  your  discovery  and  the  honour  thereof, 
who  is  to  come  after  your  clustered  Colum- 
buses  ?  to  what  fortunate  islands  of  style  are 
your  architectural  descendants  to  sail,  avari- 
cious of  new  lands  ?  When  our  desired  style 
is  invented,  will  not  the  best  we  can  all  do 
be  simply — to  build  in  it  ? — and  cannot  you 
now  do  that  in  styles  that  are  known  ? 
Observe,  I  grant,  for  the  sake  of  your  argu- 
ment, what  perhaps  many  of  you  know  that 
I  would  not  grant  otherwise — that  a  new 
style  can  be  invented.  I  grant  you  not  only 
this,  but  that  it  shall  be  wholly  different  from 
any  that  was  ever  practised  before.  We  will 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  139 

suppose  that  capitals  are  to  be  at  the  bottom 
of  pillars  instead  of  the  top;  and  that 
buttresses  -shall  be  on  the  tops  of  pinnacles 
instead  of  at  the  bottom ;  that  you  roof  your 
apertures  with  stones  which  shall  neither  be 
arched  or  horizontal;  and  that  you  compose 
your  decoration  of  lines  which  shall  neither 
be  crooked  nor  straight.  The  furnace  and 
the  forge  shall  be  at  your  service :  you  shall 
draw  out  your  plates  of  glass  and  beat  out 
your  bars  of  iron  till  you  have  encompassed 
us  all, — if  your  style  is  of  the  practical  kind, 
— with  endless  perspective  of  black  skeleton 
and  blinding  square, — or  if  your  style  is  to  be 
of  the  ideal  kind, — you  shall  wreathe  your 
streets  with  ductile  leafage,  and  roof  them  with 
variegated  crystal — you  shall  put,  if  you  will, 
all  London  under  one  blazing  dome  of  many 
colours  that  shall  light  the  clouds  round  it 
with  its  flashing,  as  far  as  to  the  sea.  And 
still,  I  ask  you,  What  after  this?  Do  you 
suppose  those  imaginations  of  yours  will  ever 
lie  down  there  asleep  beneath  the  shade  of 
your  iron  leafage,  or  within  the  coloured  light 
of  your  enchanted  dome  ?  Not  so.  Those 
souls,  and  fancies,  and  ambitions  of  yours, 


I4O  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

are  wholly  infinite;  and,  whatever  may  be 
done  by  others,  you  will  still  want  to  do 
something  for  yourselves;  if  you  cannot  rest 
content  with  Palladio,  neither  will  you  with 
Paxton :  all  the  metal  and  glass  that  ever 
were  melted  have  not  so  much  weight  in  them 
as  will  clog  the  wings  of  one  human  spirit's 
aspiration. 

1 02.  If  you  will  think  over  this  quietly  by 
yourselves,  and  can  get  the  noise  out  of  your 
ears  of  the  perpetual,  empty,  idle,  incompar- 
ably idiotic  talk  about  the  necessity  of  some 
novelty  in  architecture,  you  will  soon  see 
that  the  very  essence  of  a  Style,  properly  so 
called,  is  that  it  should  be  practised  for  agcsy 
and  applied  to  all  purposes;  and  that  so  long 
as  any  given  style  is  in  practice,  all  that  is  left 
for  individual  imagination  to  accomplish  must 
be  within  the  scope  of  that  style,  not  in  the 
invention  of  a  new  one.  If  there  are  any 
here,  therefore,  who  hope  to  obtain  celebrity 
by  the  invention  of  some  strange  way  of 
building  which  must  convince  all  Europe  into 
its  adoption,  to  them,  for  the  moment,  I  must 
not  be  understood  to  address  myself,  but  only 
to  those  who  would  be  content  with  that 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  14! 

degree  of  celebrity  which  an  artist  may  enjoy 
who  works  in  the  manner  of  his  forefathers ; 
— which  the  builder  of  Salisbury  Cathedral 
might  enjoy  in  England,  though  he  did  not 
invent  Gothic;  and  which  Titian  might  enjoy 
at  Venice,  though  he  did  not  invent  oil 
painting.  Addressing  myself  then  to  those 
humbler,  but  wiser,  or  rather,  only  wise  stu- 
dents who  are  content  to  avail  themselves 
of  some  system  of  building  already  under- 
stood, let  us  consider  together  what  room 
for  the  exercise  of  the  imagination  may  be 
left  to  us  under  such  conditions.  And,  first, 
I  suppose  it  will  be  said,  or  thought,  that 
the  architect's  principal  field  for  exercise  of 
his  invention  must  be  in  the  disposition  of 
lines,  mouldings,  and  masses,  in  agreeable 
proportions.  Indeed,  if  you  adopt  some  styles 
of  architecture,  you  cannot  exercise  invention 
in  any  other  way.  And  I  admit  that  it 
requires  genius  and  special  gift  to  do  this 
rightly.  Not  by  rule,  nor  by  study,  can  the 
gift  of  graceful  proportionate  design  be  ob- 
tained ;  only  by  the  intuition  of  genius  can 
so  much  as  a  single  tier  of  facade  be  beauti- 
fully arranged;  and  the  man  has  iust  cause 


142  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

for  pride,  as  far  as  our  gifts  can  ever  be  a 
cause  for  pride,  who  finds  himself  able,  in  a 
design  of  his  own,  to  rival  even  the  simplest 
arrangement  of  parts  in  one  by  Sanmicheli, 
Inigo  Jones,  or  Christopher  Wren. 

103.  Invention,    then,    and    genius    being 
granted,  as  necessary  to  accomplish  this,  let 
me  ask  you,  What,  after  all,  with  this  special 
gift  and  genius,  you  have  accomplished,  when 
you    have   arranged    the   lines   of  a   building 
beautifully  ? 

104.  In  the  first  place  you  will  not,  I  think, 
tell  me  that  the  beauty  there  attained  is  of 
a  touching  or  pathetic  kind.     A  well-disposed 
group  of  notes  in  music  will  make  you  some- 
times weep  and  sometimes  laugh.     You  can 
express  the  depth  of  all  affections  by  those 
dispositions  of  sound  ;  you  can  give  courage  to 
the  soldier,  language  to  the  lover,  consolation 
to  the  mourner,  more  joy  to  the  joyful,  more 
humility  to  the  devout.     Can  you  do  as  much 
by  your  group  of  lines  ?     Do  you  suppose  the 
front  of  Whitehall,  a  singularly  beautiful  one, 
ever  inspires  the  two   Horse  Guards,  during 
the  hour  they  sit  opposite  to  it,  with  military 
ardour  ?     Do  you  think  that  the  lovers  in  our 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  143 

London  walk  down  to  the  front  of  Whitehall 
for  consolation  when  mistresses  are  unkind  ; 
or  that  any  person  wavering  in  duty,  or  feeble 
in  faith,  was  ever  confirmed  in  purpose  or  in 
creed  by  the  pathetic  appeal  of  those  harmoni- 
ous architraves  ?  You  will  not  say  so.  Then, 
if  they  cannot  touch,  or  inspire,  or  comfort  any 
one,  can  your  architectural  proportions  amuse 
anyone?  Christmas  is  just  over;  you  have 
doubtless  been  at  many  merry  parties  during 
the  period.  Can  you  remember  any  in  which 
architectural  proportions  contributed  to  the 
entertainment  of  the  evening  ?  Proportions  of 
notes  in  music  were,  I  am  sure,  essential  to 
your  amusement;  the  setting  of  flowers  in 
hair,  and  of  ribands  on  dresses,  were  also 
subjects  of  frequent  admiration  with  you,  not 
inessential  to  your  happiness.  Among  the 
juvenile  members  of  your  society  the  propor- 
tion of  currants  in  cake,  and  sugar  in  comfits, 
became  subjects  of  acute  interest ;  and,  when 
such  proportions  were  harmonious,  motives 
also  of  gratitude  to  cook  and  to  confectioner. 
But,  did  you  ever  see  young  or  old  amused 
by  the  architrave  of  the  door  ?  Or  otherwise 
interested  in  the  proportions  of  the  room  than 


144  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

as  they  admitted  more  or  fewer  friendly  faces  ? 
Nay,  if  all  the  amusement  that  there  is  in  the 
best  proportioned  architecture  of  London  could 
be  concentrated  into  one  evening,  and  you 
were  to  issue  tickets  for  nothing  to  this  great 
proportional  entertainment ; — how  do  you  think 
it  would  stand  between  you  and  the  Drury 
pantomime  ? 

105.  You  are,  then,  remember,  granted  to  be 
people  of  genius — great  and  admirable;  and 
you  devote  your  lives  to  your  art,  but  you 
admit  that  you  cannot  comfort  anybody,  you 
cannot  encourage  anybody,  you  cannot  im- 
prove anybody,  and  you  cannot  amuse  any- 
body. I  proceed  then  farther  to  ask,  Can  you 
inform  anybody  ?  Many  sciences  cannot  be 
considered  as  highly  touching  or  emotional; 
nay,  perhaps  not  specially  amusing;  scientific 
men  may  sometimes,  in  these  respects,  stand 
on  the  same  ground  with  you.  As  far  as 
we  can  judge  by  the  results  of  the  late  war, 
science  helps  cur  soldiers  about  as  much  as 
the  front  of  Whitehall ;  and  at  the  Christmas 
parties,  the  children  wanted  no  geologists  to 
tell  them  about  the  behaviour  of  bears  and 
dragons  in  Queen  Elizabeth's  time.  Still,  your 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  145 

man  of  science  teaches  you  something ;  he  may 
be  dull  at  a  party,  or  helpless  in  a  battle,  he  is 
not  always  that;  but  he  can  give  you,  at  all 
events,  knowledge  of  noble  facts,  and  open  to 
you  the  secrets  of  the  earth  and  air.  Will  your 
architectural  proportions  do  as  much  ?  Your 
genius  is  granted,  and  your  life  is  given,  and 
what  do  you  teach  us? — Nothing,  I  believe, 
from  one  end  of  that  life  to  the  other,  but  that 
two  and  two  make  four,  and  that  one  is  to 
two  as  three  is  to  six. 

1 06.  You  cannot,  then,  it  is  admitted,  com- 
fort any  one,  serve  or  amuse  any  one,  nor 
teach  any  one.  Finally,  I  ask,  Can  you  be 
of  Use  to  any  one  ?  "  Yes,"  you  reply ; 
"  certainly  we  are  of  some  use — we  architects 
— in  a  climate  like  this,  where  it  always  rains." 
You  are  of  use,  certainly;  but,  pardon  me, 
only  as  builders — not  as  proportionalists.  We 
are  not  talking  of  building  as  a  protection,  but 
only  of  that  special  work  which  your  genius  is 
to  do ;  not  of  building  substantial  and  comfort- 
able houses  like  Mr.  Cubitt,  but  of  putting 
beautiful  facades  on  them  like  Inigo  Jones. 
And,  again,  I  ask — Are  you  of  use  to  any  one  ? 
Will  your  proportions  of  facade  heal  the  sick, 

K 


146  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

or  clothe  the  naked  ?  Supposing  you  devoted 
your  lives  to  be  merchants,  you  might  reflect 
at  the  close  of  them,  how  many,  fainting  for 
want,  you  had  brought  corn  to  sustain;  how 
many,  infected  with  disease,  you  had  brought 
balms  to  heal ;  how  widely,  among  multitudes 
of  far-away  nations,  you  had  scattered  the  first 
seeds  of  national  power,  and  guided  the  first 
rays  of  sacred  light.  Had  you  been,  in  fine, 
anything  else  in  the  world  but  architectural 
designers,  you  might  have  been  of  some  use 
or  good  to  people.  Content  to  be  petty  trades- 
men, you  would  have  saved  the  time  of 
mankind  ; — rough-handed  daily  labourers,  you 
would  have  added  to  their  stock  of  food  or 
of  clothing.  But,  being  men  of  genius,  and 
devoting  your  lives  to  the  exquisite  exposition 
of  this  genius,  on  what  achievements  do  you 
think  the  memories  of  your  old  age  are  to 
fasten  ?  Whose  gratitude  will  surround  you 
with  its  glow,  or  on  what  accomplished  good, 
of  that  greatest  kind  for  which  men  show  no 
gratitude,  will  your  life  rest  the  contentment  of 
its  close  ?  Truly,  I  fear  that  the  ghosts  of 
proportionate  lines  will  be  thin  phantoms  at 
your  bedsides — very  speechless  to  you;  and 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  147 

that  on  all  the  emanations  of  your  high  genius 
you  will  look  back  with  less  delight  than  you 
might  have  done  on  a  cup  of  cold  water  given 
to  him  who  was  thirsty,  or  to  a  single  moment 
when  you  had  "prevented  with  your  bread 
him  that  fled." 

107.  Do  not  answer,  nor  think  to  answer, 
that  with  your  great  works  and  great  payments 
of  workmen  in  them,  you  would  do  this;  I 
know  you  would  and  will,  as  Builders;  but, 
I  repeat,  it  is  not  your  building  that  I  am 
talking  about,  but  your  brains;  it  is  your 
invention  and  imagination  of  whose  profit  I 
am  speaking.  The  good  done  through  the 
building,  observe,  is  done  by  your  employers, 
not  by  you — you  share  in  the  benefit  of  it. 
The  good  that  you  personally  must  do  is 
by  your  designing;  and  I  compare  you  with 
musicians  who  do  good  by  their  pathetic  com- 
posing, not  as  they  do  good  by  employing 
fiddlers  in  the  orchestra;  for  it  is  the  public 
who  in  reality  do  that,  •  not  the  musicians. 
So  clearly  keeping  to  this  one  question,  what 
good  we  architects  are  to  do  by  our  genius; 
and  having  found  that  on  our  proportionate 
system  we  can  do  no  good  to  others,  will  you 


148  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

tell  me,  lastly,  what  good  we  can  do  to  our- 
selves ? 

1 08.  Observe,  nearly  every  other  liberal  art 
or  profession  has  some  intense  pleasure  con- 
nected with  it,  irrespective  of  any  good  to 
others.  As  lawyers,  or  physicians,  or  clergy- 
men, you  would  have  the  pleasure  of  inves- 
tigation, and  of  historical  reading,  as  part  of 
your  work :  as  men  of  science  you  would  be 
rejoicing  in  curiosity  perpetually  gratified 
respecting  the  laws  and  facts  of  nature :  as 
artists  you  would  have  delight  in  watching 
the  external  forms  of  nature  :  as  day  labourers 
or  petty  tradesmen,  supposing  you  to  under- 
take such  work  with  as  much  intellect  as  you 
are  going  to  devote  to  your  designing,  you 
would  find  continued  subjects  of  interest  in 
the  manufacture  or  the  agriculture  which  you 
helped  to  improve;  or  in  the  problems  of  com- 
merce which  bore  on  your  business.  But  your 
architectural  designing  leads  you  into  no  pleas- 
ant journeys, — into  no  seeing  of  lovely  things, 
— no  discerning  of  just  laws, — no  warmths 
of  compassion,  no  humilities  of  veneration, 
no  progressive  state  of  sight  or  soul.  Our 
conclusion  is — must  be — that  you  will  not 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  149 

amuse,  nor  inform,  nor  help  anybody;  you 
will  not  amuse,  nor  better,  nor  inform  your- 
selves :  you  will  sink  into  a  state  in  which 
you  can  neither  show,  nor  feel,  nor  see,  any- 
thing, but  that  one  is  to  two  as  three  is  to 
six.  And  in  that  state  what  should  we  call 
ourselves  ?  Men  ?  I  think  not.  The  right 
name  for  us  would  be — numerators  and  de- 
nominators. Vulgar  Fractions. 

109.  Shall  we,  then,  abandon  this  theory  of 
the  soul  of  architecture  being  in  proportional 
lines,  and  look  whether  we  can  find  anything 
better  to  exert  our  fancies  upon  ? 

1 10.  May  we  not,  to  begin  with,  accept  this 
great  principle — that,  as  our  bodies,  to  be  in 
health,  must   be  generally  exercised,   so   our 
minds,  to  be  in  health,  must  be  generally  culti- 
vated ?     You  would  not  call  a  man  healthy 
who  had  strong  arms  but  was  paralytic  in  his 
feet;   nor  one  who  could  walk  well,  but  had 
no  use  of  his  hands ;  nor  one  who  could  see 
well,  if  he  could  not  hear.     You  would  not 
voluntarily   reduce   your   bodies   to  any  such 
partially  developed   state.     Much  more,  then, 
you  would  not,  if  you  could  help  it,  reduce 
your    minds    to    it.      Now,   your    minds   are 


I5O  INFLUENCE    OF   IMAGINATION 

endowed  with  a  vast  number  of  gifts  of  totally 
different  uses — limbs  of  mind  as  it  were,  which, 
if  you  don't  exercise,  you  cripple.  One  is 
curiosity;  that  is  a  gift,  a  capacity  of  pleasure 
in  knowing;  which  if  you  destroy,  you  make 
yourselves  cold  and  dull.  Another  is  sym- 
pathy ;  the  power  of  sharing  in  the  feelings  of 
living  creatures;  which  if  you  destroy,  you 
make  yourselves  hard  and  cruel.  Another  of 
your  limbs  of  mind  is  admiration;  the  power 
of  enjoying  beauty  or  ingenuity  ;  which  if  you 
destroy,  you  make  yourselves  base  and  irreve- 
rent. Another  is  wit ;  or  the  power  of  play- 
ing with  the  lights  on  the  many  sides  of  truth ; 
which  if  you  destroy,  you  make  yourselves 
gloomy,  and  less  useful  and  cheering  to  others 
than  you  might  be.  So  that  in  choosing  your 
way  of  work  it  should  be  your  aim,  as  far 
as  possible,  to  bring  out  all  these  faculties, 
as  far  as  they  exist  in  you;  not  one  merely, 
nor  another,  but  all  of  them.  And  the  way 
to  bring  them  out,  is  simply  to  concern  your- 
selves attentively  with  the  subjects  of  each 
faculty.  To  cultivate  sympathy  you  must  be 
among  living  creatures,  and  thinking  about 
them;  and  to  cultivate  admiration,  you  must 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  I$l 

be  among  beautiful  things  and  looking  at 
them. 

in.  All  this  sounds  much  like  truism,  at 
least  I  hope  it  does,  for  then  you  will  surely 
not  refuse  to  act  upon  it;  and  to  consider 
farther,  how,  as  architects,  you  are  to  keep 
yourselves  in  contemplation  of  living  creatures 
and  lovely  things. 

112.  You  all  probably  know  the  beautiful 
photographs  which  have  been  published  with- 
in the  last  year  or  two  of  the  porches  of  the 
Cathedral  of  Amiens.  I  hold  one  of  these  up 
to  you  (merely  that  you  may  know  what  I  am 
talking  about,  as  of  course  you  cannot  see  the 
detail  at  this  distance,  but  you  will  recognise 
the  subject).  Have  you  ever  considered  how 
much  sympathy,  and  how  much  humour,  are 
developed  in  filling  this  single  doorway*  with 
these  sculptures  of  the  history  of  St.  Honore 
(and,  by  the  way,  considering  how  often  we 
English  are  now  driving  up  and  down  the  Rue 
St.  Honore,  we  may  as  well  know  as  much  of 
the  saint  as  the  old  architect  cared  to  tell  us). 

*  The  tympanum  of  the  south  transept  door ;  it  is  to  be 
found  generally  among  all  collections  of  architectural  photo ' 
graphs. 


152  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

You  know,  in  all  legends  of  saints  who  ever 
were  bishops,  the  first  thing  you  are  told  of 
them  is  that  they  didn't  want  to  be  bishops. 
So  here  is  St.  Honore*,  who  doesn't  want  to  be 
a  bishop,  sitting  sulkily  in  the  corner ;  he  hugs 
his  book  with  both  hands,  and  won't  get  up 
to  take  his  crosier ;  and  here  are  all  the  city 
aldermen  of  Amiens  come  to  poke  him  up ;  and 
all  the  monks  in  the  town  in  a  great  puzzle 
what  they  shall  do  for  a  bishop  if  St.  Honore 
won't  be;  and  here's  one  of  the  monks  in  the 
opposite  corner  who  is  quite  cool  about  it, 
and  thinks  they'll  get  on  well  enough  without 
St.  Honore, — you  see  that  in  his  face  perfectly. 
At  last  St.  Honore  consents  to  be  bishop,  and 
here  he  sits  in  a  throne,  and  has  his  book  now 
grandly  on  a  desk  instead  of  his  knees,  and  he 
directs  one  of  his  village  curates  how  to  find 
relics  in  a  wood;  here  is  the  wood,  and  here 
is  the  village  curate,  and  here  are  the  tombs, 
with  the  bones  of  St.  Victorien  and  Gentien 
in  them. 

113.  After  this,  St.  Honore  performs  grand 
mass,  and  the  miracle  occurs  of  the  appearance 
of  a  hand  blessing  the  wafer,  which  occurrence 
afterwards  was  painted  for  the  arms  of  the 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  153 

abbey.  Then  St.  Honore  dies ;  and  here  is  his 
tomb  with  his  statue  on  the  top ;  and  miracles 
are  being  performed  at  it — a  deaf  man  having 
his  ear  touched,  and  a  blind  man  groping  his 
way  up  to  the  tomb  with  his  dog.  Then  here 
is  a  great  procession  in  honour  of  the  relics 
of  St.  Honore ;  and  under  his  coffin  are  some 
cripples  being  healed ;  and  the  coffin  itself  is 
put  above  the  bar  which  separates  the  cross 
from  the  lower  subjects,  because  the  tradition 
is  that  the  figure  on  the  crucifix  of  the  Church 
of  St.  Firmin  bowed  its  head  in  token  of 
acceptance,  as  the  relics  of  St.  Honore  passed 
beneath. 

114.  Now  just  consider  the  amount  of 
sympathy  with  human  nature,  and  observ- 
ance of  it,  shown  in  this  one  bas-relief;  the 
sympathy  with  disputing  monks,  with  puzzled 
aldermen,  with  melancholy  recluse,  with  tri- 
umphant prelate,  with  palsy-stricken  poverty, 
with  ecclesiastical  magnificence,  or  miracle- 
working  faith.  Consider  how  much  intellect 
was  needed  in  the  architect,  and  how  much 
observance  of  nature,  before  he  could  give  the 
expression  to  these  various  figures — cast  these 
multitudinous  draperies — design  these  rich  and 


154  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

quaint  fragments  of  tombs  and  altars — weave 
with  perfect  animation  the  entangled  branches 
of  the  forest. 

115.  But  you  will  answer  me,  all  this  is  not 
architecture  at  all — it  is  sculpture.     Will  you 
then  tell  me  precisely  where   the    separation 
exists  between  one  and  the  other  ?     We  will 
begin  at  the  very  beginning.     I  will  show  you 
a  piece  of  what  you  will  certainly  admit  to  be 
a  piece  of  pure  architecture;*  it  is  drawn  on 
the   back   of  another   photograph,  another  of 
these  marvellous  tympana  from  Notre  Dame, 
which  you  call,  I  suppose,  impure.     Well,  look 
on  this  picture,  and  on  this.     Don't  laugh  ;  you 
must  not  laugh,  that's  very  improper  of  you, 
this   is    classical  architecture.      I    have  taken 
it  out   of  the   essay  on    that    subject    in   the 
"  Encyclopaedia  Britannica." 

1 1 6.  Yet  I  suppose  none  of  you  would  think 
yourselves  particularly  ingenious  architects  if 
you  had  designed  nothing  more  than  this ;  nay, 
I  will  even  let  you  improve  it  into  any  grand 
proportion  you  choose,  and  add  to  it  as  many 
windows  as  you  choose ;  the  only  thing  I  insist 
upon  in  our  specimen  of  pure  architecture  is, 

*  See  Appendix  III. ;  "  Classical  Architecture. " 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  155 

that  there  shall  be  no  mouldings  nor  orna- 
ments upon  it.  And  I  suspect  you  don't  quite 
like  your  architecture  so  "  pure  "  as  this.  We 
want  a  few  mouldings,  you  will  say — just  a 
few.  Those  who  want  mouldings,  hold  up 
their  hands.  We  are  unanimous,  I  think. 
Will  you,  then,  design  profiles  of  these  mould- 
ings yourselves,  or  will  you  copy  them  ?  If 
you  wish  to  copy  them,  and  to  copy  them 
always,  of  course  I  leave  you  at  once  to  your 
authorities,  and  your  imaginations  to  their  re- 
pose. But  if  you  wish  to  design  them  your- 
selves, how  do  you  do  it  ?  You  draw  the 
profile  according  to  your  taste,  and  you  order 
your  mason  to  cut  it.  Now,  will  you  tell  me 
the  logical  difference  between  drawing  the 
profile  of  a  moulding  and  giving  that  to  be  cut, 
and  drawing  the  folds  of  the  drapery  of  a 
statue  and  giving  those  to  be  cut  ?  The  last  is 
much  more  difficult  to  do  than  the  first;  but 
degrees  of  difficulty  constitute  no  specific  dif- 
ference, and  you  will  not  accept  it,  surely,  as 
a  definition  of  the  difference  between  archi- 
tecture and  sculpture,  that  "  architecture  is 
doing  anything  that  is  easy,  and  sculpture 
anything  that  is  difficult." 


156  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

117.  It  is  true,  also,  that  the  carved  mould- 
ing represents  nothing,  and  the  carved  drapery 
represents   something;    but    you    will   not,    I 
should  think,  accept,  as  an  explanation  of  the 
difference  between  architecture  and  sculpture, 
this  any  more  than  the  other,  that  "  sculpture 
is  art   which   has   meaning,   and   architecture 
art  which  has  none." 

1 1 8.  Where,  then,  is  your  difference  ?     In 
this  perhaps,  you  will  say ;  that  whatever  orna- 
ments we  can  direct  ourselves,  and  get  accu- 
rately cut  to  order,  we  consider  architectural. 
The  ornaments  that  we  are  obliged  to  leave 
to  the  pleasure  of  the  workman,  or  the  super- 
intendence of  some  other  designer,  we  consider 
sculptural,  especially  if  they  are  more  or  less 
extraneous    and    incrusted — not    an    essential 
part  of  the  building. 

119.  Accepting   this   definition,  I   am  com- 
pelled to  reply,  that  it  is  in  effect  nothing  more 
than   an   amplification   of  my  first  one — that 
whatever  is  easy  you  call  architecture,  what- 
ever is  difficult  you  call  sculpture.      For  you 
cannot  suppose  the  arrangement  of  the  place 
in   which    the    sculpture    is    to    be   put    is   so 
difficult  or  so  great  a  part  of  the  design  as  the 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  157 

sculpture  itself.  For  instance :  you  all  know 
the  pulpit  of  Niccolo  Pisano,  in  the  baptistery 
at  Pisa.  It  is  composed  of  seven  rich  relievi, 
surrounded  by  panel  mouldings,  and  sustained 
on  marble  shafts.  Do  you  suppose  Niccolo 
Pisano's  reputation — such  part  of  it  at  least 
as  rests  on  this  pulpit  (and  much  does) — 
depends  on  the  panel  mouldings,  or  on  the 
relievi  ?  The  panel  mouldings  are  by  his  hand ; 
he  would  have  disdained  to  leave  even  them 
to  a  common  workman ;  but  do  you  think 
he  found  any  difficulty  in  them,  or  thought 
there  was  any  credit  in  them  ?  Having  once 
done  the  sculpture,  those  enclosing  lines  were 
mere  child's  play  to  him;  the  determination 
of  the  diameter  of  shafts  and  height  of  capitals 
was  an  affair  of  minutes;  his  work  was  in 
carving  the  Crucifixion  and  the  Baptism. 

1 20.  Or,  again,  do  you  recollect  Orcagna's 
tabernacle  in  the  church  of  San  Michele,  at 
Florence  ?  That,  also,  consists  of  rich  and 
multitudinous  bas-reliefs,  enclosed  in  panel 
mouldings,  with  shafts  of  mosaic,  and  foliated 
arches  sustaining  the  canopy.  Do  you  think 
Orcagna,  any  more  than  Pisano,  if  his  spirit 
could  rise  in  the  midst  of  us  at  this  moment, 


158  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

would  tell  us  that  he  had  trusted  his  fame  to 
the  foliation,  or  had  put  his  soul's  pride  into 
the  panelling  ?  Not  so ;  he  would  tell  you 
that  his  spirit  was  in  the  stooping  figures 
that  stand  round  the  couch  of  the  dying 
Virgin. 

121.  Or,  lastly,  do  you  think  the  man 
who  designed  the  procession  on  the  portal  of 
Amiens  was  the  subordinate  workman  ?  that 
there  was  an  architect  over  him,  restraining 
him  within  certain  limits,  and  ordering  of 
him  his  bishops  at  so  much  a  mitre,  and  his 
cripples  at  so  much  a  crutch  ?  Not  so.  Here, 
on  this  sculptured  shield,  rests  the  Master's 
hand  ;  this  is  the  centre  of  the  Master's  thought : 
from  this,  and  in  subordination  to  this,  waved 
the  arch  and  sprang  the  pinnacle.  Having 
done  this,  and  being  able  to  give  human 
expression  and  action  to  the  stone,  all  the 
rest — the  rib,  the  niche,  the  foil,  the  shaft — 
were  mere  toys  to  his  hand  ind  accessories 
to  his  conception ;  and  if  once  you  also  gain 
the  gift  of  doing  this,  if  once  you  can  carve 
one  fronton  such  as  you  have  here,  I  tell 
you,  you  would  be  able — so  far  as  it  depended 
on  your  invention — to  scatter  cathedrals  over 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  1 59 

England  as  fast  as  clouds  rise  from  its  streams 
after  summer  rain. 

122.  Nay,   but   perhaps  you  answer  again, 
our  sculptors  at  present  do  not  design  cathe- 
drals,  and   could    not.     No,   they   could    not; 
but   that   is   merely   because   we   have    made 
architecture  so  dull  that  they  cannot  take  any 
interest  in  it,  and,  therefore,  do  not  care  to 
add  to  their  higher  knowledge  the  poor  and 
common  knowledge  of  principles  of  building. 
You  have  thus  separated  building  from  sculp- 
ture, and  you  have  taken  away  the  power  of 
both;  for  the   sculptor  loses  nearly  as  much 
by  never  having  room  for  the  development  of 
a   continuous  work,   as   you  do   from  having 
reduced  your  work  to  a  continuity  of  mechan- 
ism.    You  are  essentially,  and  should  always 
be,  the  same  body  of  men,  admitting  only  such 
difference   in   operation   as   there   is   between 
the  work  of  a  painter  at  different  times,  who 
sometimes   labours    on   a   small   picture,   and 
sometimes  on  the  frescoes  of  a  palace  gallery. 

123.  This    conclusion,    then,    we   arrive   at, 
must  arrive  at ;  the  fact  being  irrevocably  so : 
— that  in  order  to  give  your  imagination  and 
the    other   powers   of    your    souls    full   play, 


l6O  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

you  must  do  as  all  the  great  architects  of 
old  time  did — you  must  yourselves  be  your 
sculptors.  Phidias,  Michael  Angelo,  Orcagna, 
Pisano,  Giotto, — which  of  these  men,  do  you 
think,  could  not  use  his  chisel  ?  You  say,  "  It 
is  difficult;  quite  out  of  your  way.",  I  know 
it  is;  nothing  that  is  great  is  easy;  and 
nothing  that  is  great,  so  long  as  you  study 
building  without  sculpture,  can  be  in  your 
way.  I  want  to  put  it  in  your  way,  and  you 
to  find  your  way  to  it.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  do  not  shrink  from  the  task  as  if  the 
refined  art  of  perfect  sculpture  were  always 
required  from  you.  For,  though  architecture 
and  sculpture  are  not  separate  arts,  there  is 
an  architectural  manner  of  sculpture;  and  it 
is,  in  the  majority  of  its  applications,  a  com- 
paratively easy  one.  Our  great  mistake  at 
present,  in  dealing  with  stone  at  all,  is  requir- 
ing to  have  all  our  work  too  refined ;  it  is  just 
the  same  mistake  as  if  we  were  to  require  all 
our  book  illustrations  to  be  as  fine  work  as 
Raphael's.  John  Leech  does  not  sketch  so 
well  as  Leonardo  da  Vinci;  but  do  you  think 
that  the  public  could  easily  spare  him;  or 
that  he  is  wrong  in  bringing  out  his  talent 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  l6l 

in  the  way  in  which  it  is  most  effective  ? 
Would  you  advise  him,  if  he  asked  your 
advice,  to  give  up  his  wood-blocks  and  take 
to  canvas  ?  I  know  you  would  not ;  neither 
would  you  tell  him,  I  believe,  on  the  other 
hand,  that,  because  he  could  not  draw  as  well 
as  Leonardo,  therefore  he  ought  to  draw 
nothing  but  straight  lines  with  a  ruler,  and 
circles  with  compasses,  and  no  figure-subjects 
at  all.  That  would  be  some  loss  to  you; 
would  it  not  ?  You  would  all  be  vexed  if 
next  week's  PimcJi  had  nothing  in  it  but 
proportionate  lines.  And  yet,  do  not  you  see 
that  you  are  doing  precisely  the  same  thing 
with  your  powers  of  sculptural  design  that  he 
would  be  doing  with  his  powers  of  pictorial 
design,  if  he  gave  you  nothing  but  such  lines  ? 
You  feel  that  you  cannot  carve  like  Phidias; 
therefore  you  will  not  carve  at  all,  but  only 
draw  mouldings ;  and  thus  all  that  intermediate 
power  which  is  of  especial  value  in  modern 
days, — that  popular  power  of  expression  which 
is  within  the  attainment  of  thousands,  and 
would  address  itself  to  tens  of  thousands, — 
is  utterly  lost  to  us  in  stone,  though  in  ink 

and   paper   it   has   become   one   of  the   most 

L 


1 62  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

important  engines,  and  one  of  the  most  desired 
luxuries,  of  modern  civilization. 

1 24.  Here,  then,  is  one  part  of  the  subject  to 
which  I  would  especially  invite  your  attention, 
namely,   the  distinctive  character  which  may 
be  wisely  permitted  to  belong  to  architectural 
sculpture,  as  distinguished  from  perfect  sculp- 
ture on  one  side,  and  from  mere  geometrical 
decoration  on  the  other. 

125.  And  first,  observe  what  an  indulgence 
we  have  in  the  distance  at  which  most  work 
is  to    be  seen.     Supposing  we  were  able  to 
carve  eyes  and  lips  with  the  most  exquisite 
precision,  it  would  all  be  of  no  use  as  soon  as 
the  work  was  put  far  above  the  eye;  but,  on 
the  other  hand,  as  beauties  disappear  by  being 
far  withdrawn,  so  will  faults  ;  and  the  mystery 
and  confusion  which  are   the  natural    conse- 
quence  of  distance,   while    they   would    often 
render  your  best  skill  but  vain,  will  as  often 
render  your  worst  errors  of  little  consequence ; 
nay,  more  than   this,  often   a  deep  cut,  or  a 
rude  angle,   will  produce  in   certain    positions 
an  effect  of  expression  both  startling  and  true, 
which  you   never  hoped  for.     Not  that  mere 
distance  will  give  animation  to  the  work,  if  it 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  163 

has  none  in  itself;  but  if  it  has  life  at  all,  the 
distance  will  make  that  life  more  perceptible 
and  powerful  by  softening  the  defects  of  execu- 
tion. So  that  you  are  placed,  as  workmen,  in 
this  position  of  singular  advantage,  that  you 
may  give  your  fancies  free  play,  and  strike 
hard  for  the  expression  that  you  want,  know- 
ing that,  if  you  miss  it,  no  one  will  detect 
you ;  if  you  at  all  touch  it,  nature  herself  will 
help  you,  and  with  every  changing  shadow  and 
basking  sunbeam  bring  forth  new  phases  of 
your  fancy. 

126.  But  it  is  not  merely  this  privilege  ot 
being  imperfect  which  belongs  to  architectural 
sculpture.     It  has  a  true  privilege  of  imagina- 
tion, far  excelling  all  that  can  be  granted  to 
the  more  finished  work,  which,  for  the  sake 
of  distinction,   I  will  call, — and  I   don't   think 
we  can  have  a  much  better  term — "furniture 
sculpture ; "   sculpture,  that  is,   which   can   be 
moved  from  place  to  place  to  furnish  rooms. 

127.  For  observe,  to  that  sculpture  the  spec- 
tator is  usually  brought  in  a  tranquil  or  prosaic 
state   of  mind;  he   sees  it    associated    rather 
with    what    is    sumptuous    than   sublime,   and 
under  circumstances  which  address  themselves 


164  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

more  to  his  comfort  than  his  curiosity.  The 
statue  which  is  to  be  pathetic,  seen  be- 
tween the  flashes  of  footmen's  livery  round 
the  dining-table,  must  have  strong  elements 
of  pathos  in  itself:  and  the  statue  which  is  to 
be  awful,  in  the  midst  of  the  gossip  of  the 
drawing-room,  must  have  the  elements  of  awe 
wholly  in  itself.  But  the  spectator  is  brought 
to  your  work  already  in  an  excited  and  imagi- 
native mood.  He  has  been  impressed  by  the 
cathedral  wall  as  it  loomed  over  the  low 
streets,  before  he  looks  up  to  the  carving  of 
its  porch — and  his  love  of  mystery  has  been 
touched  by  the  silence  and  the  shadows  of  the 
cloister,  before  he  can  set  himself  to  decipher 
the  bosses  on  its  vaulting.  So  that  when  once 
he  begins  to  observe  your  doings,  he  will  ask 
nothing  better  from  you,  nothing  kinder  from 
you,  than  that  you  would  meet  this  imagina- 
tive temper  of  his  half  way ; — that  }^ou  would 
farther  touch  the  sense  of  terror,  or  satisfy 
the  expectation  of  things  strange,  which  have 
been  prompted  by  the  mystery  or  the  majesty 
of  the  surrounding  scene.  And  thus,  your 
leaving  forms  more  or  less  undefined,  or  carry- 
ing out  your  fancies,  however  extravagant,  in 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  1 $ 

grotesqueness  of  shadow  or  shape,  will  be  for 
the  most  part  in  accordance  with  the  temper 
of  the  observer;  and  he  is  likely,  therefore, 
much  more  willingly  to  use  his  fancy  to  help 
your  meanings,  than  his  judgment  to  detect 
your  faults. 

128.  Again.  Remember  that  when  the 
imagination  and  feelings  are  strongly  excited, 
they  will  not  only  bear  with  strange  things, 
but  they  will  look  into  minute  things  with  a 
delight  quite  unknown  in  hours  of  tranquillity. 
You  surely  must  remember  moments  of  your 
lives  in  which,  under  some  strong  excitement 
of  feeling,  all  the  details  of  visible  objects 
presented  themselves  with  a  strange  intensity 
and  insistance,  whether  you  would  or  no; 
urging  themselves  upon  the  mind,  and  thrust 
upon  the  eye,  with  a  force  of  fascination  which 
you  could  not  refuse.  Now,  to  a  certain 
extent,  the  senses  get  into  this  state  whenever 
the  imagination  is  strongly  excited.  Things 
trivial  at  other  times  assume  a  dignity  or 
significance  which  we  cannot  explain ;  but 
which  is  only  the  more  attractive  because 
inexplicable :  and  the  powers  of  attention, 
quickened  by  the  feverish  excitement,  fasten 


1  66  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 


feed  upon  the  minutest  circumstances  of 
detail,  and  remotest  traces  of  intention.  So 
that  what  would  at  other  times  be  felt  as 
more  or  less  mean  or  extraneous  in  a  work 
of  sculpture,  and  which  would  assuredly  be 
offensive  to  the  perfect  taste  in  its  moments 
of  languor,  or  of  critical  judgment,  will  be 
grateful,  and  even  sublime,  when  it  meets 
I  this  frightened  inquisitiveness,  this  fascinated 
\watchfulness,  of  the  roused  imagination.  And 
this  is  all  for  your  advantage;  for,  in  the  be- 
ginnings of  your  sculpture,  you  will  assuredly 
find  it  easier  to  imitate  minute  circumstances 
of  costume  or  character,  than  to  perfect  the 
anatomy  of  simple  forms  or  the  flow  of  noble 
Amasses;  and  it  will  be  encouraging  to  remem- 
ber that  the  grace  you  cannot,  perfect,  and  the 
simplicity  you  cannot  achieve,  would  be  in 
great  part  vain,  even  if  you  could  achieve 
them,  in  their  appeal  to  the  hasty  curiosity 
of  passionate  fancy;  but  that  the  sympathy 
which  would  be  refused  to  your  science  will  be 
granted  to  your  innocence  ;  and  that  the  mind 
of  the  general  observer,  though  wholly  un- 
affected by  correctness  of  anatomy  or  propriety 
of  gesture,  will  follow  you  with  fond  and 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  l/ 

pleased  concurrence,  as  you  carve  the  knots 
of  the  hair,  and  the  patterns  of  the  vesture. 

129.  Farther  yet.  We  are  to  remember 
that  not  only  do  the  associated  features  of 
the  larger  architecture  tend  to  excite  the 
strength  of  fancy,  but  the  architectural  laws 
to  which  you  are  obliged  to  submit  your 
decoration  stimulate  its  ingenuity.  Every 
crocket  which  you  are  to  crest  with  sculpture, 
— every  foliation  which  you  have  to  fill, 
presents  itself  to  the  spectator's  fancy,  not 
only  as  a  pretty  thing,  but  as  a  problematic 
thing.  It  contained,  he  perceives  immediately, 
not  only  a  beauty  which  you  wished  to  display, 
but  a  necessity  which  you  were  forced  to  meet ; 
and  the  problem,  how  to  occupy  such  and 
such  a  space  with  organic  form  in  any  pro- 
bable way,  or  how  to  turn  such  a  boss  or 
ridge  into  a  conceivable  image  of  life,  becomes 
at  once,  to  him  as  to  you,  a  matter  of  amuse- 
ment as  much  as  of  admiration.  The  ordinary 
conditions  of  perfection  in  form,  gesture,  or 
feature,  are  willingly  dispensed  with,  when 
the  ugly  dwarf  and  ungainly  goblin  have  only 
to  gather  themselves  into  angles,  or  crouch  to 
carry  corbels ;  and  the  want  of  skill  which,  in 


1 68  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

other  kinds  of  work,  would  have  been  re- 
quired for  the  finishing  of  the  parts,  will  at 
once  be  forgiven  here,  if  you  have  only  dis- 
posed ingeniously  what  you  have  executed 
roughly,  and  atoned  for  the  rudeness  of  your 
hands  by  the  quickness  of  your  wits. 

130.  Hitherto,  however,  we  have  been  con- 
sidering only  the  circumstances  in  architecture 
favourable  to  the  development  of  the  powers  of 
imagination.     A  yet  more  important  point  for 
us  seems,  to  me,  the  place  which  it  gives  to  all 
objects  of  imagination. 

131.  For,  I  suppose,  you  will  not  wish  me 
to  spend  any  time  in  proving,  that  imagina- 
tion must    be  vigorous  in   proportion   to  the 
quantity  of  material  which  it  has  to  handle ;  and 
that,  just  as  we  increase  the  range  of  what 
we  see,  we  increase  the  richness  of  what  we 
can  imagine.     Granting  this,  consider  what  a 
field  is  opened  to  your  fancy  merely  in  the  sub- 
ject matter  which  architecture  admits.     Nearly 
every  other  art  is  severely  limited  in  its  sub- 
jects— the  landscape  painter,  for  instance,  gets 
little  help  from  the  aspects  of  beautiful  human- 
ity; the  historical  painter,  less,  perhaps,  than 
he  ought,  from  the  accidents  of  wild  nature; 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  169 

and  the  pure  sculptor,  still  less,  from  the  minor 
details  of  common  life.  But  is  there  anything 
within  range  of  sight,  or  conception,  which 
may  not  be  of  use  to  you,  or  in  which  your 
interest  may  not  be  excited  with  advantage 
to  your  art  ?  From  visions  of  angels,  down 
to  the  least  important  gesture  of  a  child  at 
play,  whatever  may  be  conceived  of  Divine, 
or  beheld  of  Human,  may  be  dared  or  adopted 
by  you ;  throughout  the  kingdom  of  animal 
life,  no  creature  is  so  vast,  or  so  minute,  that 
you  cannot  deal  with  it,  or  bring  it  into 
service ;  the  lion  and  the  crocodile  will  couch 
about  your  shafts ;  the  moth  and  the  bee  will 
sun  themselves  upon  your  flowers;  for  you, 
the  fawn  will  leap ;  for  you,  the  snail  be  slow , 
for  you,  the  dove  smooth  her  bosom,  and  the 
hawk  spread  her  wings  toward  the  south.  All 
the  wide  world  of  vegetation  blooms  and  bends 
for  you ;  the  leaves  tremble  that  you  may  bid 
them  be  still  under  the  marble  snow;  the 
thorn  and  the  thistle,  which  the  earth  casts 
forth  as  evil,  are  to  you  the  kindliest  servants  ; 
no  dying  petal,  nor  drooping  tendril,  is  so 
feeble  as  to  have  no  help  for  you;  no  robed 
pride  of  blossom  so  kingly,  but  it  will  lay 


I/O  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

aside  its  purple  to  receive  at  your  hands  the 
pale  immortality.  Is  there  anything  in  com- 
mon life  too  mean, — in  common  things  too 
trivial, — to  be  ennobled  by  your  touch  ?  As 
there  is  nothing  in  life,  so  there  is  nothing  in 
lifelessness  which  has  not  its  lesson  for  you, 
or  its  gift ;  and  when  you  are  tired  of  watch- 
ing the  strength  of  the  plume,  and  the 
tenderness  of  the  leaf,  you  may  walk  down 
to  your  rough  river-shore,  or  into  the  thickest 
markets  of  your  thoroughfares ;  and  there  is 
not  a  piece  of  torn  cable  that  will  not  twine 
into  a  perfect  moulding;  there  is  not  a  frag- 
ment of  castaway  matting,  or  shattered  basket- 
work,  that  will  not  work  into  a  chequer  or  a 
capital.  Yes :  and  if  you  gather  up  the  very 
sand,  and  break  the  stone  on  which  you  tread, 
among  its  fragments  of  all  but  invisible  shells 
you  will  find  forms  that  will  take  their  place, 
and  that  proudly,  among  the  starred  traceries 
of  your  vaulting ;  and  you,  who  can  crown  the 
mountain  with  its  fortress,  and  the  city  with 
its  towers,  are  thus  able  also  to  give  beauty 
to  ashes,  and  worthiness  to  dust. 

132.  Now,    in    that   your    art    presents   all 
this  material  to  you,  you  have  already  much 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  17! 

to  rejoice  in.  But  you  have  more  to  rejoice 
in,  because  all  this  is  submitted  to  you,  not 
to  be  dissected  or  analyzed,  but  to  be  sym- 
pathized with,  and  to  bring  out,  therefore, 
what  may  be  accurately  called  the  moral  part 
of  imagination.  We  saw  that,  if  we  kept 
ourselves  among  lines  only,  we  should  have 
cause  to  envy  the  naturalist,  because  he  was 
conversant  with  facts ;  but  you  will  have  little  to 
envy  now,  if  you  make  yourselves  conversant 
with  the  feelings  that  arise  out  of  his  facts. 
For  instance,  the  naturalist,  coming  upon  a 
block  of  marble,  has  to  begin  considering 
immediately  how  far  its  purple  is  owing  to 
iron,  or  its  whiteness  to  magnesia;  he  breaks 
his  piece  of  marble,  and  at  the  close  of  his  day, 
has  nothing  but  a  little  sand  in  his  crucible, 
and  some  data  added  to  the  theory  of  the 
elements.  But  you  approach  your  marble  to 
sympathize  with  it,  and  rejoice  over  its  beauty. 
You  cut  it  a  little  indeed,  but  only  to  bring 
out  its  veins  more  perfectly;  and  at  the  end 
of  your  day's  work  you  leave  your  marble  shaft 
with  joy  and  complacency  in  its  perfectness,  as 
marble.  When  you  have  to  watch  an  animal  \ 
instead  of  a  stone,  you  differ  from  the  naturalist  i. 


INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 


in  the  same  way.  He  may,  perhaps,  if  he  be 
an  amiable  naturalist,  take  delight  in  having 
living  creatures  round  him  ;  —  still,  the  major 
part  of  his  work  is,  or  has  been,  in  count- 
ing feathers,  separating  fibres,  and  analyzing 
structures.  But  your  work  is  always  with  the 
living  creature;  the  thing  you  have  to  get  at 
in  him  is  his  life,  and  ways  of  going  about 
things.  It  does  not  matter  to  you  how  many 
cells  there  are  in  his  bones,  or  how  many 
filaments  in  his  feathers  ;  what  you  want  is 
his  moral  character  and  way  of  behaving  him- 
self; it  is  just  that  which  your  imagination,  if 
healthy,  will  first  seize  —  just  that  which  your 
chisel,  if  vigorous,  will  first  cut.  You  must  get 
the  storm  spirit  into  your  eagles,  and  the  lord- 
liness into  your  lions,  and  the  tripping  fear 
into  your  fawns  ;  and  in  order  to  do  this,  you 
must  be  in  continual  sympathy  with  every 
fawn  of  them;  and  be  hand-in-glove  with  all 
the  lions,  and  hand-in-claw  with  all  the  hawks. 
And  don't  fancy  that  you  will  lower  yourselves 
by  sympathy  with  the  lower  creatures;  you 
cannot  sympathize  rightly  with  the  higher, 
unless  you  do  with  those  :  but  you  have  to 
sympathize  with  the  higher,  too  —  with  queens, 


IN    ARCHITECTURE. 


and  kings,  and  martyrs,  and  angels.  Yes,  and 
above  all,  and  more  than  all,  with  simple 
humanity  in  all  its  needs  and  ways,  for  there 
is  not  one  hurried  face  that  passes  you  in  the 
street  that  will  not  be  impressive,  if  you  can 
only  fathom  it.  All  history  is  open  to  you,  all 
high  thoughts  and  dreams  that  the  past  for- 
tunes of  men  can  suggest;  all  fairy  land  is 
open  to  you  —  no  vision  that  ever  haunted 
forest,  or  gleamed  over  hill-side,  but  calls  you 
to  understand  how  it  came  into  men's  hearts, 
and  may  still  touch  them;  and  all  Paradise  is 
open  to  you  —  yes,  and  the  work  of  Paradise; 
for  in  bringing  all  this,  in  perpetual  and  attract- 
tive  truth,  before  the  eyes  of  your  fellow- 
men,  you  have  to  join  in  the  employment 
of  the  angels,  as  well  as  to  imagine  their 
companies. 

133.  And  observe,  in  this  last  respect,  what 
a  peculiar  importance,  and  responsibility,  are 
attached  to  your  work,  when  you  consider  its 
permanence,  and  the  multitudes  to  whom  it  is 
addressed.  We  frequently  are  led,  by  wise 
people,  to  consider  what  responsibility  may 
sometimes  attach  to  words,  which  yet,  the 
chance  is,  will  be  heard  by  few,  and  forgotten 


INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 


as  soon  as  heard.  But  none  of  your  words 
will  be  heard  by  few,  and  none  will  be  for- 
gotten, for  five  or  six  hundred  years,  if  you 
build  well.  You  will  talk  to  all  who  pass  by  ; 
and  all  those  little  sympathies,  those  freaks  of 
fancy,  those  jests  in  stone,  those  workings-out 
of  problems  in  caprice,  will  occupy  mind  after 
mind  of  utterly  countless  multitudes,  long  after 
you  are  gone.  You  have  not,  like  authors, 
to  plead  for  a  hearing,  or  to  fear  oblivion. 
Do  but  build  large  enough,  and  carve  boldly 
enough,  and  all  the  world  will  hear  you  ;  they 
cannot  choose  but  look. 

134.  I  do  not  mean  to  awe  you  by  this 
thought  ;  I  do  not  mean  that,  because  you  will 
have  so  many  witnesses  and  watchers,  you  are 
never  to  jest,  or  do  anything  gaily  or  lightly  ; 
on  the  contrary,  I  have  pleaded,  from  the 
beginning,  for  this  art  of  yours,  especially 
because  it  has  room  for  the  whole  of  your 
character:  —  if  jest  is  in  you,  let  the  jest  be 
jested;  if  mathematical  ingenuity  is  yours,  let 
your  problem  be  put,  and  your  solution  worked 
out,  as  quaintly  as  you  choose;  above  all,  see 
that  your  work  is  easily  and  happily  done, 
else  it  will  never  make  anybody  else  happy: 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  1 75 

but  while  you  thus  give  the  rein  to  all  your 
impulses  see  that  those  impulses  be  headed  and 
centred  by  one  noble  impulse ;  and  let  that  be 
Love — triple  love — for  the  art  which  you  prac- 
tise, the  creation  in  which  you  move,  and  the 
creatures  to  whom  you  minister. 

135. — I.  I  say,  first,  Love  for  the  art  which 
you  practise.  Be  assured  that  if  ever  any 
other  motive  becomes  a  leading  one  in  your 
mind,  as  the  principal  one  for  exertion,  except 
your  love  of  art,  that  moment  it  is  all  over 
with  your  art.  I  do  not  say  you  are  not 
to  desire  money,  nor  to  desire  fame,  nor  to 
desire  position ;  you  cannot  but  desire  all 
three;  nay,  you  may — if  you  are  willing  that 
I  should  use  the  word  Love  in  a  desecrated 
sense — love  all  three;  that  is,  passionately 
covet  them;  yet  you  must  not  covet  or  love 
them  in  the  first  place.  Men  of  strong 
passions  and  imaginations  must  always  care 
a  great  deal  for  anything  they  care  for  at 
all ;  but  the  whole  question  is  one  of  first 
or  second.  Does  your  art  lead  you,  or  your 
gain  lead  you  ?  You  may  like  making  money 
exceedingly ;  but  if  it  come  to  a  fair  question, 
whether  you  are  to  make  five  hundred  pounds 


1/6  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

less  by  this  business,  or  to  spoil  your  building, 
and  you  choose  to  spoil  your  building,  there's 
an  end  of  you.  So  you  may  be  as  thirsty  for 
fame  as  a  cricket  is  for  cream ;  but,  if  it  come 
to  a  fair  question,  whether  you  are  to  please 
the  mob,  or  do  the  thing  as  you  know  it  ought 
to  be  done ;  and  you  can't  do  both,  and  choose 
to  please  the  mob, — it's  ail  over  with  you; — 
there's  no  hope  for  you ;  nothing  that  you  can 
do  will  ever  be  worth  a  man's  glance  as  he 
passes  by.  The  test  is  absolute,  inevitable — 
Is  your  art  first  with  you  ?  Then  }^ou  are 
artists ;  you  may  be,  after  you  have  made  your 
money,  misers  and  usurers ;  you  may  be,  after 
you  have  got  your  fame,  jealous,  and  proud, 
and  wretched,  and  base : — but  yet,  as  long  as 
yon  wont  spoil  your  vvork,  you  are  artists.  On 
the  other  hand — Is  your  money  first  with  you, 
and  your  fame  first  with  you  ?  Then,  you 
may  be  very  charitable  with  your  money,  and 
very  magnificent  with  your  money,  and  very 
graceful  in  the  way  you  wear  your  reputation, 
and  very  courteous  to  those  beneath  you,  and 
very  acceptable  to  those  above  you ;  but  you 
are  not  artists.  You  are  mechanics,  and 
drudges. 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  177 

136. — II.  You  must  love  the  creation  you 
work  in  the  midst  of.  For,  wholly  in  propor- 
tion to  the  intensity  of  feeling  which  you  bring 
to  the  subject  you  have  chosen,  will  be  the 
depth  and  justice  of  your  perception  of  its 
character.  And  this  depth  of  feeling  is  not  to 
be  gained  on  the  instant,  when  you  want  to 
bring  it  to  bear  on  this  or  that.  It  is  the 
result  of  the  general  habit  of  striving  to  feel 
rightly ;  and,  among  thousands  of  various 
means  of  doing  this,  perhaps  the  one  I  ought 
specially  to  name  to  3^011,  is  the  keeping  your- 
selves clear  of  petty  and  mean  cares.  What- 
ever you  do,  don't  be  anxious,  nor  fill  your 
heads  with  little  chagrins  and  little  desires.  I 
have  just  said,  that  you  may  be  great  artists, 
and  yet  be  miserly  and  jealous,  and  troubled 
about  many  things.  So  you  may  be;  but  I 
said  also  that  the  miserliness  or  trouble  must 
not  be  in  your  hearts  all  day.  It  is  possible 
that  you  may  get  a  habit  of  saving  money ;  or 
it  is  possible,  at  a  time  of  great  trial,  you  may 
yield  to  the  temptation  of  speaking  unjustly  of 
a  rival, — and  you  will  shorten  your  powers 
and  dim  your  sight  even  by  this ; — but  the 

thing  that  you  have  to  dread   far  more  than 

M 


178  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

any  such  unconscious  habit,  or  any  such 
momentary  fall — is  the  constancy  of  small 
emotions ;  the  anxiety  whether  Mr.  So-and-so 
will  like  your  work;  whether  such  and  such 
a  workman  will  do  all  that  you  want  of  him, 
and  so  on; — not  wrong  feelings  or  anxieties 
in  themselves,  but  impertinent,  and  wholly 
incompatible  with  the  full  exercise  of  your 
imagination. 

1 37.  Keep  yourselves,  therefore,  quiet,  peace- 
ful, with  your  eyes  open.  It  doesn't  matter 
at  all  what  Mr.  So-and-so  thinks  of  your 
work;  but  it  matters  a  great  deal  what  that 
bird  is  doing  up  there  in  its  nest,  or  how 
that  vagabond  child  at  the  street  corner  is 
managing  his  game  of  knuckle-down.  And 
remember,  you  cannot  turn  aside  from  your 
own  interests,  to  the  birds'  and  the  children's 
interests,  unless  you  have  long  before  got  into 
the  habit  of  loving  and  watching  birds  and 
children;  so  that  it  all  comes  at  last  to  the 
forgetting  yourselves,  and  the  living  out  of 
yourselves,  in  the  calm  of  the  great  world, 
or  if  you  will,  in  its  agitation ;  but  always  in 
a  calm  of  your  own  bringing.  Do  not  think 
it  wasted  time  to  submit  yourselves  to  any 


IN    ARCHITECTURE. 


influence  which  may  bring  upon  you  any  noble 
feeling.  Rise  early,  always  watch  the  sunrise, 
and  the  way  the  clouds  break  from  the  dawn  ; 
you  will  cast  your  statue-draperies  in  quite 
another  than  your  common  way,  when  the 
remembrance  of  that  cloud  motion  is  with  you, 
and  of  the  scarlet  vesture  of  the  morning. 
Live  always  in  the  spring  time  in  the  country  ; 
you  do  not  know  what  leaf-form  means,  unless 
you  have  seen  the  buds  burst,  and  the  young 
leaves  breathing  low  in  the  sunshine,  and 
wondering  at  the  first  shower  of  rain.  But 
above  all,  accustom  yourselves  to  look  for,  and 
to  love,  all  nobleness  of  gesture  and  feature 
in  the  human  form;  and  remember  that  the 
highest  nobleness  is  usually  among  the  aged, 
the  poor,  and  the  infirm  ;  you  will  find,  in 
the  end,  that  it  is  not  the  strong  arm  of  the  sol- 
dier, nor  the  laugh  of  the  young  beauty,  that 
are  the  best  studies  for  you.  Look^  at  themf 
and  look  at  them  reverently  ;  but  be  assured 
that  endurance  is-  nobler  than  strength,  and 
patience  than  beauty;  and  that  it  is  not  in 
the  high  church  pews,  where  the  gay  dresses 
are,  but  in  the  church  free  seats,  where  the 
widows'  weeds  are,  that  you  may  see  the  faces 


r 


ISO  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

that  will  fit  best  between  the  angels'  wings,  in 
the  church  porch. 

138. — III.  And  therefore,  lastly  and  chiefly, 
you  must   love    the   creatures    to    whom    you 
minister,  your  fellow-men ;  for,  if  you  do  not 
love  them,  not  only  will  you  be  little  interested 
in  the  passing  events  of  life,  but  in  all  your 
gazing  at  humanity,  you  will   be   apt   to   be 
struck  only  by  outside  form,  and  not  by  ex- 
pression.    It  is  only  kindness  and  tenderness 
which  will  ever  enable  you  to  see  what  beauty 
there  is  in  the  dark  eyes  that  are  sunk  with 
weeping,  and  in  the  paleness  of  those  fixed 
faces  which    the   earth's   adversity  has   com- 
passed about,  till  they  shine  in  their  patience 
like  dying  watchfires  through  twilight.     But  it 
is  not  this  only  which   makes  it  needful  for 
you,  if  you  would  be  great,  to  be  also  kind; 
there   is    a   most    important   and    all-essential 
reason  in  the  very  nature  of  your  own  art.     So 
soon  as  you  desire  to  build  largely,  and  with 
addition  of  noble  sculpture,  you  will  find  that 
your  work  must  be  associative.     You  cannot 
carve    a   whole    cathedral   yourself — you    can 
carve  but  few  and  simple  parts  of  it.     Either 
your   own   work   must   be    disgraced    in    the 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  l8l 

mass  of  the  collateral  inferiority,  or  you  must 
raise  your  fellow-designers  to  correspondence 
of  power.  If  you  have  genius,  you  will  your- 
selves take  the  lead  in  the  building  you  design ; 
you  will  carve  its  porch  and  direct  its  disposi- 
tion. But  for  all  subsequent  advancement  of 
its  detail,  you  must  trust  to  the  agency  and 
the  invention  of  others ;  and  it  rests  with  you 
either  to  repress  what  faculties  your  workmen 
have,  into  cunning  subordination  to  your  own ; 
or  to  rejoice  in  discovering  even  the  powers 
that  may  rival  you,  and  leading  forth  mind 
after  mind  into  fellowship  with  your  fancy, 
and  association  with  your  fame. 

139.  I  need  not  tell  you  that  if  you  do  the 
first — if  you  endeavour  to  depress  or  disguise 
the  talents  of  your  subordinates — you  are  lost ; 
for  nothing  could  imply  more  darkly  and  de- 
cisively than  this,  that  your  art  and  your  work 
were  not  beloved  by  you;  that  it  was  your 
own  prosperity  that  you  were  seeking,  and 
your  own  skill  only  that  you  cared  to  con- 
template. I  do  not  say  that  you  must  not 
be  jealous  at  all :  it  is  rarely  in  human  nature 
to  be  wholly  without  jealousy ;  and  you  may  be 
forgiven  for  going  some  day  sadly  home,  when 


1 82  INFLUENCE    OF    IMAGINATION 

you  find  some  youth,  unpractised  and  unap- 
proved,  giving  the  life-stroke  to  his  work 
which  you,  after  years  of  training,  perhaps, 
cannot  reach  :  but  your  jealousy  must  not  con- 
quer— your  love  of  your  building  must  conquer, 
helped  by  your  kindness  of  heart.  See — 
I  set  no  high  or  difficult  standard  before  you. 
I  do  not  say  that  you  are  to  surrender  your 
pre-eminence  in  'mere  unselfish  generosity. 
But  I  do  say  that  you  must  surrender  your 
pre-eminence  in  your  love  of  your  building, 
helped  by  your  kindness;  and  that  whomso- 
ever you  find  better  able  to  do  what  will  adorn 
it  than  you, — that  person  you  are  to  give 
place  to :  and  to  console  yourselves  for  the 
humiliation,  first,  by  your  joy  in  seeing  the 
edifice  grow  more  beautiful  under  his  chisel; 
and  secondly,  by  your  sense  of  having  done 
kindly  and  justly.  But  if  you  are  morally 
strong  enough  to  make  the  kindness  and 
justice  the  first  motive,  it  will  be  better; — 
best  of  all — if  you  do  not  consider  it  as  kind- 
ness at  all,  but  bare  and  stern  justice;  for, 
truly,  such  help  as  we  can  give  each  other  in 
this  world  is  a  debt  to  each  other;  and  the 
man  who  perceives  a  superiority  or  capacity 


IN    ARCHITECTURE.  183 

in  a  subordinate,  and  neither  confesses  nor 
assists  it,  is  not  merely  the  withholder  of 
kindness,  but  the  committer  of  injury.  But  be 
the  motive  what  you  will,  only  see  that  you 
do  the  thing;  and  take  the  joy  of  the  con- 
sciousness that,  as  your  art  embraces  a  wider 
field  than  all  others — and  addresses  a  vaster 
multitude  than  all  others — and  is  surer  of 
audience  than  all  others — so  it  is  pro  founder 
and  holier  in  Fellowship  than  all  others. 
The  artist,  when  his  pupil  is  perfect,  must 
see  him  leave  his  side  that  he  may  declare 
his  distinct,  perhaps  opponent,  skill.  Man 
of  science  wrestles  with  man.  of  science  for 
priority  of  discovery,  and  pursues  in  pangs 
of  jealous  haste  his  solitary  inquiry.  You 
alone  are  called  by  kindness, — by  necessity, — 
by  equity,  to  fraternity  of  toil ;  and  thus,  in 
those  misty  and  massive  piles  which  rise  above 
the  domestic  roofs  of  our  ancient  cities,  there 
was — there  may  be  again — a  meaning  more 
profound  and  true  than  any  that  fancy  so 
commonly  has  attached  to  them.  Men  say 
their  pinnacles  point  to  heaven.  Why,  so 
does  every  tree  that  buds,  and  every  bird  that 
rises  as  it  sings.  Men  say  their  aisles  are 


1 84  IMAGINATION    IN    ARCHITECTURE. 

good  for  worship.  Why,  so  is  every  moun- 
tain glen,  and  rough  sea- shore.  But  this  they 
have,  of  distinct  and  indisputable  glory, — 
that  their  mighty  walls  were  never  raised, 
and  never  shall  be,  but  by  men  who  love 
and  aid  each  other  in  their  weakness; — that 
all  their  interlacing  strength  of  vaulted  stone 
has  its  foundation  upon  the  stronger  arches 
of  manly  fellowship,  and  all  their  changing 
grace  of  depressed  or  lifted  pinnacle  owes  its 
cadence  and  completeness  to  sweeter  sym- 
metries of  human  soul. 


LECTURE  V. 

THE    WORK    OF    IRON,    IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND 
POLICY. 

A  Lecture  delivered  at  Tunbridge  Wells, 
February  \6tky  1858. 

140.  WHEN  first  I  heard  that  you  wished  me 
to  address  you  this  evening,  it  was  a  matter  of 
some  doubt  with  me  whether  I  could  find  any 
subject  that  would  possess  any  sufficient  in- 
terest for  you  to  justify  my  bringing  you  out 
of  your  comfortable  houses  on  a  winter's  night, 
When  I  venture  to  speak  about  my  own 
special  business  of  art,  it  is  almost  always 
before  students  of  art,  among  whom  I  may 
sometimes  permit  myself  to  be  dull,  if  I  can 
feel  that  I  am  useful :  but  a  mere  talk  about 
art,  especially  without  examples  to  refer  to 
(and  I  have  been  unable  to  prepare  any  care- 
ful illustrations  for  this  lecture),  is  seldom  of 

much  interest  to   a   general  audience.     As   I 

185 


1 86  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

was  considering  what  you  might  best  bear  with 
me  in  speaking  about,  there  came  naturally 
into  my  mind  a  subject  connected  with  the 
origin  and  present  prosperity  of  the  town  you 
live  in;  and,  it  seemed  to  me,  in  the  out- 
branchings  of  it,  capable  of  a  very  general 
interest.  When,  long  ago  (I  am  afraid  to 
think  how  long),  Tunbridge  Wells  was  my 
Switzerland,  and  I  used  to  be  brought  down 
here  in  the  summer,  a  sufficiently  active  child, 
rejoicing  in  the  hope  of  clambering  sandstone 
cliffs  of  stupendous  height  above  the  common, 
there  used  sometimes,  as,  I  suppose,  there  are 
in  the  lives  of  all  children  at  the  Wells,  to  be 
dark  days  in  my  life — days  of  condemnation  to 
the  pantiles  and  band — under  which  calamities 
my  only  consolation  used  to  be  in  watching,  at 
every  turn  in  my  walk,  the  welling  forth  of 
the  spring  over  the  orange  rim  of  its  marble 
basin.  The  memory  of  the  clear  water,  spark- 
ling over  its  saffron  stain,  came  back  to  me  as 
the  strongest  image  connected  with  the  place; 
and  it  struck  me  that  you  might  not  be  un- 
willing, to-night,  to  think  a  little  over  the  full 
significance  of  that  saffron  stain,  and  of  the 
power,  in  other  ways  and  other  functions,  of 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  l8/ 

the  steely  element  to  which  so  many  here  owe 
returning  strength  and  life; — chief  as  it  has 
been  always,  and  is  yet  more  and  more  mark- 
edly so  day  by  day,  among  the  precious  gifts 
of  the  earth. 

141.  The  subject  is,  of  course,  too  wide  to 
be  more  than  suggestively  treated;  and  even 
my  suggestions  must  be  few,  and  drawn  chiefly 
from  my  own   fields  of  work;  nevertheless,  I 
think    I    shall    have    time    to    indicate    some 
courses  of  thought  which  you  may  afterwards 
follow  out  for  yourselves  if  they  interest  you; 
and  so  I  will  not  shrink  from  the  full  scope  of 
the  subject  which  I  have  announced  to  you — 
the    functions    of   Iron,    in    Nature,    Art,  and 
Policy. 

142.  Without  more  preface,  I  will  take  up 
the  first  head. 

I.  IRON  IN  NATURE. — You  all  probably  know 
that  the  ochreous  stain,  which,  perhaps,  is 
often  thought  to  spoil  the  basin  of  your  spring, 
is  iron  in  a  state  of  rust :  and  when  you 
see  rusty  iron  in  other  places  you  generally 
think,  not  only  that  it  spoils  the  places  it 
stains,  but  that  it  is  spoiled  itself— that  rusty! 
iron  is  spoiled  iron. 


1 88  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

143.  For  most  of  our  uses  it  generally  is 
so;  and  because  we  cannot  use  a  rusty  knife 
or  razor  so  well  as  a  polished  one,  we  suppose 
it  to  be  a  great  defect  in  iron  that  it  is  subject 
to  rust.  But  not  at  all.  On  the  contrary,  the 
most  perfect  and  useful  state  of  it  is  that 
ochreous  stain ;  and  therefore  it  is  endowed 
with  so  ready  a  disposition  to  get  itself  into 
!that  state.  It  is  not  a  fault  in  the  iron,  but  a 
virtue,  to  be  so  fond  of  getting  rusted,  for  in 
that  condition  it  fulfils  its  most  important 
functions  in  the  universe,  and  most  kindly 
duties  to  mankind.  Nay,  in  a  certain  sense, 
and  almost  a  literal  one,  we  may  say  that  iron 
rusted  is  Living;  but  when  pure  or  polished, 
Dead.  You  all  probably  know  that  in  the 
mixed  air  we  breathe,  the  part  of  it  essentially 
needful  to  us  is  called  oxygen;  and  that  this 
substance  is  to  all  animals,  in  the  most 
accurate  sense  of  the  word,  " breath  of  life."/ 
The  nervous  power  of  life  is  a  different  thing ; 
but  the  supporting  element  of  the  breath,  with- 
out which  the  blood,  and  therefore  the  life, 
cannot  be  nourished,  is  this  oxygen.  Now  it 
is  this  very  same  air  which  the  iron  breathes  I 
when  it  gets  rusty.  It  takes  the  oxygen  from  / 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND   POLICY.  189 

the  atmosphere  as  eagerly  as  we  do,  though 
it  uses  it  differently.  The  iron  keeps  all  that 
it  gets;  we,  and  other  animals,  part  with  it 
again ;  but  the  metal  absolutely  keeps  what  it 
has  once  received  of  this  aerial  gift ;  and  the 
ochreous  dust  which  we  so  much  despise  is,  in 
fact,  just  so  much  nobler  than  pure  iron,  in  so 
far  as  it  is  iron  and  the  air.  Nobler,  and  more 
useful — for,  indeed,  as  I  shall  be  able  to  show 
you  presently — the  main  service  of  this  metal, 
and  of  all  other  metals,  to  us,  is  not  in 
making  knives,  and  scissors,  and  pokers,  and 
pans,  but  in  making  the  ground  we  feed  from, 
and  nearly  all  the  substances  first  needful  to 
our  existence.  For  these  are  all  nothing  but 
metals  and  oxygen — metals  with  breath  put 
into  them.  Sand,  lime,  clay,  and  the  rest  of 
the  earths — potash  and  soda,  and  the  rest  of 
the  alkalies — are  all  of  them  metals  which  have 
undergone  this,  so  to  speak,  vital  change,  and 
have  been  rendered  fit  for  the  service  of  man 
by  permanent  unity  with  the  purest  air  which 
he  himself  breathes.  There  is  only  one  metal 
which  does  not  rust  readily;  and  that  in  its 
influence  on  Man  hitherto,  has  caused  Death 
rather  than  Life ;  it  will  not  be  put  to  its  right 


THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 


use   till   it   is   made   a   pavement   of,    and   so 
trodden  under  foot. 

144.  Is  there  not  something  striking  in  this 
fact,  considered  largely  as  one  of  the  types, 
or  lessons,  furnished  by  the  inanimate  crea- 
tion ?  Here  you  have  your  hard,  bright,  cold, 
lifeless  metal  —  good  enough  for  swords  and 
scissors  —  but  not  for  food.  You  think,  per- 
haps, that  your  iron  is  wonderfully  useful  in  a 
pure  form,  but  how  would  you  like  the  world, 
if  all  your  meadows,  instead  of  grass,  grew 
nothing  but  iron  wire  —  if  all  your  arable 
ground,  instead  of  being  made  of  sand  and 
clay,  were  suddenly  turned  into  flat  surfaces 
of  steel  —  if  the  whole  earth,  instead  of  its 
green  and  glowing  sphere,  rich  with  forest  and 
flower,  showed  nothing  but  the  image  of  the 
vast  furnace  of  a  ghastly  engine  —  a  globe  of 
black,  lifeless,  excoriated  metal?  It  would  be 
that,  —  probably  it  was  once  that  ;  but  assuredly 
it  would  be,  were  it  not  that  all  the  sub- 
stance of  which  it  is  made  sucks  and  breathes 
the  brilliancy  of  the  atmosphere;  and,  as  it 
breathes,  softening  from  its  merciless  hard- 
ness, it  falls  into  fruitful  and  beneficent  dust; 
gathering  itself  again  into  the  earths  from 


IN     NATURE,     ART,     AND    POLICY.  IQI 

which  we  feed,  and  the  stones  with  which  we 
build; — into  the  rocks  that  frame  the  moun- 
tains, and  the  sands  that  bind  the  sea. 

145.  Hence,  it  is  impossible  for  you  to  take 
up  the  most  insignificant  pebble  at  your  feet, 
without   being  able  to  read,  if  you  like,  this 
curious  lesson  in  it.     You  look  upon  it  at  first 
as  if  it  were  earth  only.     Nay,  it  answers,  "  I 
am  not  earth — I  am  earth  and  air  in  one ;  part 
of  that  blue  heaven  which  you  love,  and  long 
for,  is  already  in  me ;  it  is  all  my  life — without 
it  I  should  be  nothing,  and  able  for  nothing ;  I 
could  not  minister  to  you,  nor  nourish  you — 
I  should  be  a  cruel  and  helpless  thing;    but, 
because  there  is,  according  to  my  need  and 
place  in  creation,  a  kind  of  soul  in  me,  I  have 
become  capable  of  good,   and   helpful  in  the 
circles  of  vitality." 

146.  Thus  far  the  same  interest  attaches  to 
all  the  earths,  and  all  the  metals  of  which  they 
are  made;    but  a  deeper  interest   and  larger 
beneficence  belong  to  that  ochreous  earth  of 
iron  which  stains  the  marble  of  your  springs. 
It  stains  much  besides  that  marble.     It  stains 
the  great  earth  wheresoever  you  can  see  it, 
far   and  wide — it  is  the  colouring  substance 


192  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

appointed  to  colour  the  globe  for  the  sight,  as 
well  as  subdue  it  to  the  service  of  man.  You 
have  just  seen  your  hills  covered  with  snow, 
and,  perhaps,  have  enjoyed,  at  first,  the  con- 
trast of  their  fair  white  with  the  dark  blocks 
of  pine  woods ;  but  have  you  ever  considered 
how  you  would  like  them  always  white — not 
pure  white,  but  dirty  white — the  white  of  thaw, 
with  all  the  chill  of  snow  in  it,  but  none  of  its 
brightness  ?  That  is  what  the  colour  of  the 
earth  would  be  without  its  iron ;  that  would  be 
its  colour,  not  here  or  there  only,  but  in  all 
places,  and  at  all  times.  Follow  out  that  idea 
till  you  get  it  in  some  detail.  Think  first  of 
your  pretty  gravel  walks  in  your  gardens, 
and  fine,  like  plots  of  sunshine  between  the 
yellow  flower-beds;  fancy  them  all  suddenly 
turned  to  the  colour  of  ashes.  That  is  what 
they  would  be  without  iron  ochre.  Think  of 
your  winding  walks  over  the  common,  as  warm 
to  the  eye  as  they  are  dry  to  the  foot,  and 
imagine  them  all  laid  down  suddenly  with  gray 
cinders.  Then  pass  beyond  the  common  into 
the  country,  and  pause  at  the  first  ploughed 
field  that  you  see  sweeping  up  the  hill  sides 
in  the  sun,  with  its  deep  brown  furrows,  and 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  193 

wealth  of  ridges  all  a-glow,  heaved  aside  by 
the  ploughshare,  like  deep  folds  of  a  mantle 
of  russet  velvet — fancy  it  all  changed  suddenly 
into  grisly  furrows  in  a  field  of  mud.  That 
is  what  it  would  be  without  iron.  Pass  on, 
in  fancy,  over  hill  and  dale,  till  you  reach 
the  bending  line  of  the  sea  shore;  go  down 
upon  its  breezy  beach — watch  the  white  foam 
flashing  among  the  amber  of  it,  and  all  the 
blue  sea  embayed  in  belts  of  gold :  then  fancy 
those  circlets  of  far  sweeping  shore  suddenly 
put  into  mounds  of  mourning — all  those  golden 
sands  turned  into  gray  slime ;  the  fairies  no 
more  able  to  call  to  each  other,  "  Come  unto 
these  yellow  sands ; "  but,  "  Come  unto  these 
drab  sands."  That  is  what  they  would  be, 
without  iron. 

147.  Iron    is    in    some  sort,   therefore,  the 
sunshine  and  light  of  landscape,  so  far  as  that 
light    depends    on    the    ground;   but    it    is    a 
source  of  another  kind  of  sunshine,  quite  as 
important  to  us  in  the  way  we  live  at  present 
— sunshine,  not  of  landscape,  but  of  dwelling- 
place. 

148.  In  these  days  of  swift  locomotion  I  may 

doubtless  assume  that  most  of  my  audience 

N 


194  THE   WORK    OF    IRON, 

have  been  somewhere  out  of  England — have 
been  in  Scotland,  or  France,  or  Switzerland. 
Whatever  may  have  been  their  impression, 
on  returning  to  their  own  country,  of  its 
superiority  or  inferiority  in  other  respects, 
they  cannot  but  have  felt  one  thing  about 
it — the  comfortable  look  of  its  towns  and 
villages.  Foreign  towns  are  often  very  pic- 
turesque, very  *  beautiful,  but  they  never  have 
quite  that  look  of  warm  self-sufficiency  and 
wholesome  quiet  with  which  our  villages  nestle 
themselves  down  among  the  green  fields.  If 
you  will  take  the  trouble  to  examine  into  the 
sources  of  this  impression,  you  will  find  that 
by  far  the  greater  part  of  that  warm  and 
satisfactory  appearance  depends  upon  the  rich 
scarlet  colour  of  the  bricks  and  tiles.  It  does 
not  belong  to  the  neat  building — very  neat 
building  has  an  uncomfortable  rather  than  a 
comfortable  look — but  it  depends  on  the  warm 
building ;  our  villages  are  dressed  in  red  tiles 
as  our  old  women  are  in  red  cloaks;  and  it 
does  not  matter  how  warm  the  cloaks,  or  how 
bent  and  bowed  the  roof  may  be,  so  long 
as  there  are  no  holes  in  either  one  or  the 
other,  and  the  sobered  but  unextinguishable 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  IQ5 

colour  still  glows  in  the  shadow  of  the  hood, 
and  burns  among  the  green  mosses  of  the 
gable.  And  what  do  you  suppose  dyes  your 
tiles  of  cottage  roof?  You  don't  paint  them. 
It  is  Nature  who  puts  all  that  lovely  vermilion 
into  the  clay  for  you ;  and  all  that  lovely 
vermilion  is  this  oxide  of  iron.  Think,  there- 
fore, what  your  streets  of  towns  would  become 
—ugly  enough,  indeed,  already,  some  of  them, 
but  still  comfortable-looking — if  instead  of  that 
warm  brick  red,  the  houses  became  all  pepper- 
and-salt  colour.  Fancy  your  country  villages 
changing  from  that  homely  scarlet  of  theirs 
which,  in  its  sweet  suggestion  of  Iaboriou9 
peace,  is  as  honourable  as  the  soldier's  scarlet 
of  laborious  battle — suppose  all  those  cottage 
roofs,  I  say,  turned  at  once  into  the  colour 
of  unbaked  clay,  the  colour  of  street  gutters 
in  rainy  weather.  That's  what  they  would  be 
without  iron. 

149.  There  is,  however,  yet  another  effect 
of  colour  in  our  English  country  towns  which, 
perhaps,  you  may  not  all  yourselves  have 
noticed,  but  for  which  you  mus.t  take  the 
word  of  a  sketcher.  They  are  not  so  often 
merely  warm  scarlet  as  they  are  warm  purple ; 


THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 


—  a  more  beautiful  colour  still  :  and  they  owe 
this  colour  to  a  mingling  with  the  vermilion 
of  the  deep  grayish  or  purple  hue  of  our 
fine  Welsh  slates  on  the  more  respectable 
roofs,  made  more  blue  still  by  the  colour  of 
intervening  atmosphere.  If  you  examine  one 
of  these  Welsh  slates  freshly  broken,  you 
will  find  its  purple  colour  clear  and  vivid; 
and  although  never  strikingly  so  after  it  has 
been  long  exposed  to  weather,  it  always 
retains  enough  of  the  tint  to  give  rich  har- 
monies of  distant  purple  in  opposition  to  the 
green  of  our  woods  and  fields.  Whatever 
brightness  or  power  there  is  in  the  hue  is 
entirely  owing  to  the  oxide  of  iron.  Without 
it  the  slates  would  either  be  pale  stone  colour, 
or  cold  grey,  or  black. 

150.  Thus  far  we  have  only  been  consider- 
ing the  use  and  pleasantness  of  iron  in  the 
common  earth  of  clay.  But  there  are  three 
kinds  of  earth  which,  in  mixed  mass  and 
prevalent  quantity,  form  the  world.  Those 
are,  in  common  language,  the  earths  of  clay, 
of  lime,  and  of  flint.  Many  other  elements 
are  mingled  with  these  in  sparing  quantities; 
but  the  great  frame  and  substance  of  the  earth 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  1 97 

is  made  of  these  three,  so  that  whenever  you 
stand  on  solid  ground,  in  any  country  of  the 
globe,  the  thing  that  is  mainly  under  your 
feet  will  be  either  clay,  limestone,  or  some  con- 
dition of  the  earth  of  flint,  mingled  with  both. 

151.  These  being  what  we  have  usually  to 
deal  with,  Nature  seems  to  have  set  herself 
to  make  these  three  substances  as  interesting 
to  us,  and  as  beautiful  for  us,  as  she  can. 
The  clay,  being  a  soft  and  changeable  sub- 
stance, she  doesn't  take  much  pains  about, 
as  we  have  seen,  till  it  is  baked;  she  brings 
the  colour  into  it  only  when  it  receives  a 
permanent  form.  But  the  limestone  and  flint 
she  paints,  in  her  own  way,  in  their  native 
state  :  and  her  object  in  painting  them  seems 
to  be  much  the  same  as  in  her  painting  of 
flowers;  to  draw  us,  careless  and  idle  human 
creatures,  to  watch  her  a  little,  and  see  what 
she  is  about — that  being  on  the  whole  good 
for  us, — her  children.  For  Nature  is  always 
jcarrying  on  very  strange  work  with  this  lime- 
stone and  flint  of  hers :  laying  down  beds  of 
them  at  the  bottom  of  the  sea ;  building  islands 
out  of  the  sea ;  filling  chinks  and  veins  in 
mountains  with  curious  treasures;  petrifying 


198  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

mosses,  and  trees,  and  shells ;  in  fact,  carrying 
on  all  sorts  of  business,  subterranean  or  sub- 
marine,  which    it   would    be    highly   desirable 
for  us,  who  profit  and  live  by  it,  to  notice  as 
it  goes  on.     And  apparently  to  lead  us  to  do 
this,  she  makes  picture-books  for  us  of  lime- 
stone  and  flint;  and    tempts  us,   like    foolish 
children  as  we  are,  to  read  her  books  by  the 
pretty  colours  in    them.     The  pretty  colours 
in  her  limestone-books  form  those  variegated 
marbles  which  all  mankind  have  taken  delight 
to  polish  and  build  with  from  the  beginning 
of  time;  and  the  pretty  colours  in  her  flint- 
books  form  those  agates,  jaspers,   cornelians, 
bloodstones,  onyxes,  cairngorms,  chrysoprases, 
which  men  have  in  like  manner  taken  delight 
to  cut,   and  polish,   and   make  ornaments  of, 
from  the  beginning  of  time ;  and  yet  so  much 
of  babies  are  they,  and  so  fond  of  looking  at 
the  pictures  instead  of  reading  the  book,  that 
I   question  whether,  after  six  thousand  years 
of  cutting  and  polishing,  there  are  above  two 
or    three    people    out    of  any  given   hundred 
who  know,  or  care  to  know,  how  a  bit  of  agate 
or  a  bit  of  marble  was  made,  or  painted. 

152.   How  it  was  made,  may  not  be  alwa}rs 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  1 99 

very  easy  to  say ;  but  with  what  it  Was  painted 
there  is  no  manner  of  question.  All  those 
beautiful  violet  veinings  and  variegations  of 
the  marbles  of  Sicily  and  Spain,  the  glowing 
orange  and  amber  colours  of  those  of  Siena, 
the  deep  russet  of  the  Rosso  antico,  and  the 
blood-colour  of  all  the  precious  jaspers  that 
enrich  the  temples  of  Italy;  and,  finally,  all 
the  lovely  transitions  of  tint  in  the  pebbles  of 
Scotland  and  the  Rhine,  which  form,  though 
not  the  most  precious,  by  far  the  most  interest- 
ing portion  of  our  modern  jewellers'  work; — 
all  these  are  painted  by  Nature  with  this  one 
material  only,  variously  proportioned  and  ap- 
plied—the__oxide__ofl  iron  that  stains  your 
Tunbridge  springs. 

153.  But  this  is  not  all,  nor  the  best  part 
of  the  work  of  iron.  Its  service  in  producing 
these  beautiful  stones  is  only  rendered  to  rich 
people,  who  can  afford  to  quarry  and  polish 
them.  But  Nature  paints  for  all  the  world, 
poor  and  rich  together;  and  while,  therefore, 
she  thus  adorns  the  innermost  rocks  of  her 
hills,  to  tempt  your  investigation,  or  indulge 
your  luxury, — she  paints,  far  more  carefully, 
the  outsides  of  the  hills,  which  are  for  the 


2OO  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

eyes  of  the  shepherd  and  the  ploughman.  I 
spoke  just  now  of  the  effect  in  the  roofs  of 
our  villages  of  their  purple  slates;  but  if  the 
slates  are  beautiful  even  in  their  flat  and 
formal  rows  on  house-roofs,  much  more  are 
they  beautiful  on  the  rugged  crests  and  flanks 
of  their  native  mountains.  Have  you  ever 
considered,  in  speaking  as  we  do  so  often  of 
distant  blue  hills,  what  it  is  that  makes  them 
blue  ?  To  a  certain  extent  it  is  distance ; 
but  distance  alone  will  not  do  it.  Many  hills 
look  white,  however  distant.  That  lovely 
dark  purple  colour  of  our  Welsh  and  High- 
land hills  is  owing,  not  to  their  distance  merely, 
but  to  their  rocks.  Some  of  their  rocks  are, 
indeed,  too  dark  to  be  beautiful,  being  black 
or  ashy  gray;  owing  to  imperfect  and  porous 
structure.  But  when  you  see  this  dark  colour 
dashed  with  russet  and  blue,  and  coming  out 
in  masses  among  the  green  ferns,  so  purple 
that  you  can  hardly  tell  at  first  whether  it  is 
rock  or  heather,  then  you  must  thank  your 
old  Tunbridge  friend,  the  oxide  of  iron. 

154.  But  this  is  not  all.  It  is  necessary 
for  the  beauty  of  hill  scenery  that  Nature 
should  colour  not  only  her  soft  rocks,  but  her 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2OI 

hard  ones ;  and  she  colours  them  with  the 
same  thing,  only  more  beautifully.  Perhaps 
you  have  wondered  at  my  use  of  the  word 
"purple,"  so  often  of  stones;  but  the  Greeks, 
and  still  more  the  Romans,  who  had  profound 
respect  for  purple,  used  it  of  stone  long  ago. 
You  have  all  heard  of  "  porphyry "  as  among 
the  most  precious  of  the  harder  massive  stones. 
The  colour  which  gave  it  that  noble  name,  as 
well  as  that  which  gives  the  flush  to  all  the 
rosy  granite  of  Egypt — yes,  and  to  the  rosiest 
summits  of  the  Alps  themselves — is  still  owing 
to  the  same  substance — your  humble  oxide  of 
iron. 

155.  And  last  of  all: 

A  nobler  colour  than  all  these — the  noblest 
colour  ever  seen  on  this  earth — one  which 
belongs  to  a  strength  greater  than  that  of  the 
Egyptian  granite,  and  to  a  beauty  greater  than 
that  of  the  sunset  or  the  rose — is  still  mysteri- 
ously connected  with  the  presence  of  this  dark 
iron.  I  believe  it  is  not  ascertained  on  what 
the  crimson  of  blood  actually  depends ;  but  the 
colour  is  connected,  of  course,  with  its  vitality, 
and  that  vitality  with  the  existence  of  iron  as 
one  of  its  substantial  elements. 


2O2  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 


156.  Is  it  not  strange  to  find  this  stern  and 
strong    metal    mingled    so    delicately    in    our 
human  life  that  we  cannot  even  blush  without 
its   help  ?     Think    of  it,   my  fair   and   gentle 
hearers;   how  terrible   the   alternative — some- 
times you  have  actually  no  choice  but  to  be 
brazen-faced,  or  iron-faced ! 

157.  In  this  slight   review  of  some  of  the 
functions   of  the    metal,   you    observe    that    I 
confine   myself   strictly    to    its    operations    as 
a  colouring  element.     I   should   only  confuse 
your  conception  of  the  facts  if  I  endeavoured 
to  describe  its  uses  as  a  substantial  element, 
either  in    strengthening   rocks   or   influencing 
vegetation  by  the  decomposition  of  rocks.     I 
have  not,  therefore,  even  glanced  at  any  of  the 
more  serious  uses  of  the  metal  in  the  economy 
of  nature.     But   what    I   wish   you    to    carry 
clearly  away  with  you  is  the  remembrance  that 
in  all  these  uses  the  metal  would  be  nothing 
without  the  air.     The  pure  metal  has  no  power, 
and  never  occurs  in  nature  at  all,  except  in 
meteoric  stones,  whose  fall  no  one  can  account 
for,   and  which    are    useless   after   they   have 
fallen  :  in  the  necessary  work  of  the  world,  the 
iron  is  invariably  joined  with  the  oxygen,  and 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  20$ 

would  be  capable  of  no  service  or  beauty  what- 
ever without  it. 

158.  II.  IRON  IN  ART. — Passing,  then,  from 
the  offices  of  the  metal  in  the  operations  of 
nature  to  its  uses  in  the  hands  of  man,  you 
must   remember,  in   the  outset,  that  the  type 
which  has  been  thus  given  you,  by  the  lifeless 
metal,  of  the  action  of  body  and  soul  together, 
has    noble    antitype   in    the    operation    of    all 
human    power.     All   art  worthy  the  name  is 
the  energy — neither  of  the  human  body  alone, 
nor   of   the    human   soul   alone,    but   of  both 
united,  one  guiding  the  other :  good  craftsman- 
ship and  work  of  the  fingers  joined  with  good 
emotion  and  work  of  the  heart. 

159.  There    is   no   good    art,    nor   possible 
judgment  of  art,  when  these  two  are  not  united  ; 
yet  we  are  constantly  trying  to  separate  them. 
Our  amateurs  cannot  be  persuaded  but  that 
they  may  produce  some  kind  of  art  by  their 
fancy  or  sensibility,  without  going  through  the 
necessary  manual  toil.     That  is  entirely  hope- 
less.    Without  a  certain  number,  and   that  a 
very  great  number,  of  steady  acts  of  hand — a 
practice  as  careful  and  constant  as  would  be 
necessary  to  learn  any  other  manual  business 


204 


— no  drawing  is  possible.  On  the  other  side, 
the  workman,  and  those  who  employ  him, 
are  continually  trying  to  produce  art  by  trick 
or  habit  of  fingers,  without  using  their  fancy 
or  sensibility.  That  also  is  hopeless.  With- 
out mingling  of  heart-passion  with  hand- 
power,  no  art  is  possible.*  The  highest  art 
unites  both  in  their  intensest  degrees :  the 
action  of  the  hand  at  its  finest,  with  that  of  the 
heart  at  its  fullest. 

1 60.  Hence  it  follows  that  the  utmost  power 
of  art  can  only  be  given  in  a  material  capable 
of  receiving  and  retaining  the  influence  of  the 
subtlest  touch  of  the  human  hand.  That  hand 
is  the  most  perfect  agent  of  material  power 
existing  in  the  universe;  and  its  full  subtlety 
can  only  be  shown  when  the  material  it  works 
on,  or  with,  is  entirely  yielding.  The  chords 
of  a  perfect  instrument  will  receive  it,  but  not 
of  an  imperfect  one;  the  softly-bending  point 
of  the  hair  pencil,  and  soft  melting  of  colour, 
will  receive  it,  but  not  even  the  chalk  or 
pen  point,  still  less  the  steel  point,  chisel,  or 
marble.  The  hand  of  a  sculptor  may,  indeed, 

*  No  fine  art,  that  is.     See  the  previous  definition  of  fine 
art  at  §  54. 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2O5 

be  as  subtle  as  that  of  a  painter,  but  all  its 
subtlety  is  not  bestowable  nor  expressible  :  the 
touch  of  Titian,  Correggio,  or  Turner  *  is  a  far 
more  marvellous  piece  of  nervous  action  than 
can  be  shown  in  anything  but  colour,  or  in 
the  very  highest  conditions  of  executive  expres- 
sion in  music.  In  proportion  as  the  material 
worked  upon  is  less  delicate,  the  execution 
necessarily  becomes  lower,  and  the  art  with 
it.  This  is  one  main  principle  of  all  work. 
Another  is,  that  whatever  the  material  you 
choose  to  work  with,  your  art  is  base  if  it 
does  not  bring  out  the  distinctive  qualities  of 
that  material. 

161.  The  reason  of  this  second  law  is,  that 
if  you  don't  want  the  qualities  of  the  substance 
you  use,  you  ought  to  use  some  other  sub- 
stance :  it  can  be  only  affectation,  and  desire 
to  display  your  skill,  that  lead^you  to  employ 
a  refractory  substance,  and  therefore  your 
art  will  all  be  base.  Glass,  for  instance,  is 
eminently,  in  its  nature,  transparent.  If  you 
don't  want  transparency,  let  the  glass  alone. 
Do  not  try  to  make  a  window  look  like  an 
opaque  picture,  but  take  an  opaque  ground 
*  See  Appendix  IV.,  ;  "  Subtlety  of  Hand." 


2O6  THE   WORK    OF    IRON, 

to  begin  with.  Again,  marble  is  eminently  a 
solid  and  massive  substance.  Unless  you 
want  mass  and  solidity,  don't  work  in  marble. 
If  you  wish  for  lightness,  take  wood;  if  for 
freedom,  take  stucco  ;  if  for  ductility,  take  glass. 
Don't  try  to  carve  feathers,  or  trees,  or  nets,  or 
foam,  out  of  marble.  Carve  white  limbs  and 
broad  breasts  only  out  of  those. 

162.  So  again,  iron  is  eminently  a  ductile 
and  tenacious  substance — tenacious  above  all 
things,  ductile  more  than  most.  When  you 
want  tenacity,  therefore,  and  involved  form, 
take  iron.  It  is  eminently  made  for  that.  It 
is  the  material  given  to  the  sculptor  as  the 
companion  of  marble,  with  a  message,  as 
plain  as  it  can  well  be  spoken,  from  the  lips 
of  the  earth-mother,  "  Here's  for  you  to  cut, 
and  here's  for  you  to  hammer.  Shape  this, 
and  twist  that.  What  is  solid  and  simple, 
carve  out;  what  is  thin  and  entangled,  beat 
out.  I  give  you  all  kinds  of  forms  to  be 
delighted  in;  fluttering  leaves  as  well  as 
fair  bodies ;  twisted  branches  as  well  as  open 
brows.  The  leaf  and  the  branch  you  may 
beat  and  drag  into  their  imagery:  the  body 
and  brow  you  shall  reverently  touch  into  their 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2O7 

imagery.  And  if  you  choose  rightly  and 
work  rightly,  what  you  do  shall  be  safe 
afterwards.  Your  slender  leaves  shall  not 
break  off  in  my  tenacious  iron,  though  they 
may  be  rusted  a  little  with  an  iron  autumn. 
Your  broad  surfaces  shall  not  be  unsmoothed 
in  my  pure  crystalline  marble — no  decay  shall 
touch  them.  But  if  you  carve  in  the  marble 
what  will  break  with  a  touch,  or  mould  in 
the  metal  what  a  stain  of  rust  or  verdigris 
will  spoil,  it  is  your  fault — not  mine." 

163.  These  are  the  main  principles  in  this 
matter;  which,  like  nearly  all  other  right 
principles  in  art,  we  moderns  delight  in  con- 
tradicting as  directly  and  specially  as  may  be. 
We  continually  look  for,  and  praise,  in  our  ex- 
hibitions, the  sculpture  of  veils,  and  lace,  and 
thin  leaves,  and  all  kinds  of  impossible  things 
pushed  as  far  as  possible  in  the  fragile 
stone,  for  the  sake  of  showing  the  sculptor's 
dexterity.*  On  the  other  hand,  we  cast  our 

*  I  do  not  mean  to  attach  any  degree  of  blame  to  the 
effort  to  represent  leafage  in  marble  for  certain  expressive 
purposes.  The  later  works  of  Mr.  Munro  have  depended 
for  some  of  their  most  tender  thoughts  on  a  delicate  and 
skilful  use  of  such  accessories.  And  in  general,  leaf  sculp- 
ture is  good  and  admirable,  if  it  renders,  as  in  Gothic  work, 


2O8  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

iron  into  bars — brittle,  though  an  inch  thick 
—sharpen  them  at  the  ends,  and  consider 
fences,  and  other  work,  made  of  such  mate- 
rials, decorative  !  I  do  not  believe  it  would 
be  easy  to  calculate  the  amount  of  mischief 
done  to  our  taste  in  England  by  that  fence 
ironwork  of  ours  alone.  If  it  were  asked  of 
us,  by  a  single  characteristic,  to  distinguish  the 
dwellings  of  a  country  into  two  broad  sections ; 
and  to  set,  on  one  side,  the  places  where 
people  were,  for  the  most  part,  simple,  happy, 
benevolent,  and  honest ;  and,  on  the  other 
side,  the  places  where  at  least  a  great  number 
of  the  people  were  sophisticated,  unkind, 
uncomfortable,  and  unprincipled,  there  is,  I 
think,  one  feature  that  you  could  fix  upon 
as  a  positive  test :  the  uncomfortable  and 
unprincipled  parts  of  a  country  would  be  the 
parts  where  people  lived  among  iron  railings, 
and  the  comfortable  and  principled  parts 

the  grace  and  lightness  of  the  leaf  by  the  arrangement  of  light 
and  shadow — supporting  the  masses  well  by  strength  of 
stone  below  ;  but  all  carving  is  base  which  proposes  to  itself 
slightness  as  an  aim,  and  tries  to  imitate  the  absolute  thin- 
ness of  thin  or  slight  things,  as  much  modern  wood-carving 
(Iocs.  I  saw  in  Italy,  a  year  or  two  ago,  a  marble  sculpture 
of  birds'  nests. 


UNIVERSIT 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2OQ 

where  they  had  none.  A  broad  generaliza- 
tion, you  will  say  !  Perhaps  a  little  too  broad  ; 
yet,  in  all  sobriety,  it  will  come  truer  than 
you  think.  Consider  every  other  kind  of 
fence  or  defence,  and  you  will  find  some  virtue 
in  it;  but  in  the  iron  railing,  none.  There  is, 
first,  your  castle  rampart  of  stone  —  somewhat 
too  grand  to  be  considered  here  among  our 
types  of  fencing;  next,  your  garden  or  park 
wall  of  brick,  which  has  indeed  often  an  unkind 
look  on  the  outside,  but  there  is  more  modesty 
in  it  than  unkindness.  It  generally  means, 
not  that  the  builder  of  it  wants  to  shut  you 
out  from  the  view  of  his  garden,  but  from 
the  view  of  himself:  it  is  a  frank  statement 
that  as  he  needs  a  certain  portion  of  time 
to  himself,  so  he  needs  a  certain  portion  of 
ground  to  himself,  and  must  not  be  stared  at 
when  he  digs  there  in  his  shirt-sleeves,  or 
plays  at  leapfrog  with  his  boys  from  school, 
or  talks  over  old  times  with  his  wife,  walking 
up  and  down  in  the  evening  sunshine.  Be- 
sides, the  brick  wall  has  good  practical  ser- 
vice in  it,  and  shelters  you  from  the  east  wind, 
and  ripens  your  peaches  and  nectarines,  and 

glows  in  autumn   like  a   sunny  bank.     And, 

O 


2IO  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

moreover,  your  brick  wall,  if  you  build  it 
properly,  so  that  it  shall  stand  long  enough, 
is  a  beautiful  thing  when  it  is  old,  and  has 
assumed  its  grave  purple  red,  touched  with 
mossy  green. 

164.  Next  to  your  lordly  wall,  in  dignity 
of  enclosure,  comes  your  close-set  wooden 
paling,  which  is  more  objectionable,  because 
it  commonly  means  enclosure  on  a  larger  scale 
than  people  want.  Still  it  is  significative  of 
pleasant  parks,  and  well  kept  field  walks, 
and  herds  of  deer,  and  other  such  aristocratic 
pastoralisms,  which  have  here  and  there  their 
proper  place  in  a  country,  and  may  be  passed 
without  any  discredit. 

,165.  Next  to  your  paling  comes  your  low 
stone  dyke,  your  mountain  fence,  indicative 
at  a  glance  either  of  wild  hill  country,  or  of 
beds  of  stone  beneath  the  soil;  the  hedge  of 
the  mountains — delightful  in  all  its  associa- 
tions, and  yet  more  in  the  varied  and  craggy 
forms  of  the  loose  stones  it  is  built  of:  and 
next  to  the  low  stone  wall,  your  lowland 
hedge,  either  in  trim  line  of  massive  green, 
suggestive  of  the  pleasances  of  old  Elizabethan 
houses,  and  smooth  alleys  for  aged  feet,  and 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  211 

quaint  labyrinths  for  young  ones,  or  else  in 
fair  entanglement  of  eglantine  and  virgin's 
bower,  tossing  its  scented  luxuriance  along 
our  country  waysides : — how  many  such  you 
have  here  among  your  pretty  hills,  fruitful 
with  black  clusters  of  the  bramble  for  boys 
in  autumn7  and  crimson  hawthorn-berries  for 
birds  in  winter.  And  then  last,  and  most 
difficult  to  class  among  fences,  comes  your 
hand-rail,  expressive  of  all  sorts  of  things; 
sometimes  having  a  knowing  and  vicious  look, 
which  it  learns  at  race-courses ;  sometimes 
an  innocent  and  tender  look,  which  it  learns 
at  rustic  bridges  over  cressy  brooks;  and 
sometimes  a  prudent  and  protective  look, 
which  it  learns  on  passes  of  the  Alps,  where 
it  has  posts  of  granite  and  bars  of  pine,  and 
guards  the  brows  of  cliffs  and  the  banks  of 
torrents.  So  that  in  all  these  kinds  of  defence 
there  is  some  good,  pleasant,  or  noble  mean- 
ing. But  what  meaning  has  the  iron  railing  ? 
Either,  observe,  that  you  are  living  in  the 
midst  of  such  bad  characters  that  you  must 
keep  them  out  by  main  force  of  bar,  or  that 
you  are  yourself  of  a  character  requiring  to 
be  kept  inside  in  the  same  manner.  Your 


212  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

iron  railing  always  means  thieves  outside,  or 
Bedlam  inside; — it  can  mean  nothing  else 
than  that.  If  the  people  outside  were  good 
for  anything,  a  hint  in  the  way  of  fence  would 
be  enough  for  them;  but  because  they  are 
violent  and  at  enmity  with  you,  you  a*re  forced 
to  put  the  close  bars  and  the  spikes  at  the 
top.  Last  summer  I  was  lodging  for  a  little 
while  in  a  cottage  in  the  country,  and  in 
front  of  my  low  window  there  were,  first, 
some  beds  of  daisies,  then  a  row  of  goose- 
berry and  currant  bushes,  and  then  a  low 
wall  about  three  feet  above  the  ground, 
covered  with  stone-cress.  Outside,  a  corn- 
field, with  its  green  ears  glistening  in  the 
sun,  and  a  field  path  through  it,  just  past  the 
garden  gate.  From  my  window  I  could  see 
every  peasant  of  the  village  who  passed  that 
way,  with  basket  on  arm  for  market,  or  spade 
on  shoulder  for  field.  When  I  was  inclined 
for  society,  I  could  lean  over  my  wall,  and 
talk  to  anybody;  when  I  was  inclined  for 
science,  I  could  botanize  all  along  the  top  of 
my  wall — there  were  four  species  of  stone- 
cress  alone  growing  on  it;  and  when  I  was 
inclined  for  exercise,  I  could  jump  over  my 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2 1 3 

wall,  backwards  and  forwards.  That^s  the 
sort  of  fence  to  have  in  a  Christian  country; 
not  a  thing  which  you  can't  walk  inside  of 
without  making  yourself  look  like  a  wild  beast, 
nor  look  at  out  of  your  window  in  the  morn- 
ing without  expecting  to  see  somebody  impaled 
upon  it  in  the  night. 

1 66.  And  yet  farther,  observe  that  the  iron 
railing  is  a  useless  fence — it  can  shelter  no- 
thing,   and    support    nothing;  you    can't    nail 
your  peaches  to  it,  nor  protect  your  flowers 
with  it,  nor  make  anything  whatever  out  of 
its  costly  tyranny ;  and  besides  being  useless, 
it  is   an   insolent   fence; — it   says   plainly    to 
everybody   who    passes — "You    may    be    an 
honest  person, — but,  also,  you  may  be  a  thief: 
honest  or  not,  you  shall  not  get  in  here,  for 
I  am  a  respectable  person,  and  much  above 
you;  you  shall  only  see  what  a  grand  place 
I   have  got  to   keep   you   out  of — look  here, 
and  depart  in  humiliation." 

167.  This,  however,   being   in   the   present 
state  of  civilization  a  frequent  manner  of  dis- 
course, and  there  being   unfortunately  many 
districts  where  the  iron  railing  is  unavoidable, 
it  yet  remains  a  question  whether  you  need 


214 


absolutely  make  it  ugly,  no  less  than  signifi- 
cative of  evil.  You  must  have  railings  round 
your  squares  in  London,  and  at  the  sides  of 
your  areas;  but  need  you  therefore  have 
railings  so  ugly  that  the  constant  sight  of 
them  is  enough  to  neutralise  the  effect  of  all 
the  schools  of  art  in  the  kingdom  ?  You  need 
not.  Far  from  such  necessity,  it  is  even  in 
your  power  to  turn  all  your  police  force  of 
iron  bars  actually  into  drawing  masters,  and 
natural  historians.  Not,  of  course,  without 
some  trouble  and  some  expense;  you  can  do 
nothing  much  worth  doing,  in  this  world,  with- 
out trouble,  you  can  get  nothing  much  worth 
having,  without  expense.  The  main  question 
is  only — what  is  worth  doing  and  having : 
—Consider,  therefore,  if  this  is  not.  Here 
is  your  iron  railing,  as  yet,  an  uneducated 
monster ;  a  sombre  seneschal,  incapable  of  any 
words,  except  his  perpetual  "  Keep  out ! "  and 
"  Away  with  you  ! "  Would  it  not  be  worth 
some  trouble  and  cost  to  turn  this  ungainly 
ruffian  porter  into  a  well-educated  servant; 
who,  while  he  was  severe  as  ever  in  forbidding 
entrance  to  evilly  disposed  people,  should  yet 
have  a  kind  word  for  well-disposed  people, 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  21 5 

and  a  pleasant  look,  and  a  little  useful  infor- 
mation at  his  command,  in  case  he  should  be 
asked  a  question  by  the  passers-by  ? 

1 68.  We  have  not  time  to-night  to  look 
at  many  examples  of  ironwork;  and  those  I 
happen  to  have  by  me  are  not  the  best :  iron- 
work is  not  one  of  my  special  subjects  of 
study ;  so  that  I  only  have  memoranda  of  bits 
that  happened  to  come  into  picturesque  subjects 
which  I  was  drawing  for  other  reasons.  Be- 
sides, external  ironwork  is  more  difficult  to 
find  good  than  any  other  sort  of  ancient  art ; 
for  when  it  gets  rusty  and  broken,  people  are 
sure,  if  they  can  afford  it,  to  send  it  to  the  old 
iron  shop,  and  get  a  fine  new  grating  instead ; 
and  in  the  great  cities  of  Italy  the  old  iron 
is  thus  nearly  all  gone :  the  best  bits  I 
remember  in  the  open  air  were  at  Brescia  ; 
—fantastic  sprays  of  laurel-like  foliage  rising 
over  the  garden  gates ;  and  there  are  a  few 
fine  fragments  at  Verona,  and  some  good 
trellis-work  enclosing  the  Scala  tombs ;  but  on 
the  whole,  the  most  interesting  pieces,  though 
by  no  means  the  purest  in  style,  are  to  be 
found  in  out-of-the-way  provincial  towns, 
where  people  do  not  care,  or  are  unable,  to 


216 


make  polite  alterations.  The  little  town  of 
Bellinzona,  for  instance,  on  the  south  of  the 
Alps,  and  that  of  Sion  on  the  north,  have  both 
of  them  complete  schools  of  ironwork  in  their 
balconies  and  vineyard  gates.  That  of  Bell- 
{nzona  is  the  best,  though  not  very  old — I 
suppose  most  of  it  of  the  seventeenth  century ; 
still  it  is  very  quaint  and  beautiful.  Here,  for 
example,  are  two  balconies,  from  two  different 
houses.  One  has  been  a  cardinal's,  and  the 
hat  is  the  principal  ornament  of  the  balcony, 
*ts  tassels  being  wrought  with  delightful 
delicacy  and  freedom;  and  catching  the  eye 
clearly  even  among  the  mass  of  rich  wreathed 
leaves.  These  tassels  and  strings  are  precisely 
ihe  kind  of  subject  fit  for  ironwork — noble  in 
ironwork,  they  would  have  been  entirely  ig- 
noble in  marble,  on  the  grounds  above  stated. 
The  real  plant  of  oleander  standing  in  the 
window  enriches  the  whole  group  of  lines 
Very  happily. 

169.  The  other  balcony,  from  a  very  ordi- 
nary-looking house  in  the  same  street,  is  much 
more  interesting  in  its  details.  It  appeared 
last  summer  with  convolvulus  twined  about  the 
bars,  the  arrow-shaped  living  leaves  mingled 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2 1/ 

among  the  leaves  of  iron.  It  is  composed  of  a 
large  tulip  in  the  centre;  then  two  turkscap 
lilies ;  then  two  pinks,  a  little  conventionalized ; 
then  two  narcissi;  then  two  nondescripts,  or, 
at  least,  flowers  I  do  not  know ;  and  then  two 
dark  buds,  and  a  few  leaves ;  I  say  dark  buds, 
for  all  these  flowers  have  been  coloured  in 
their  original  state.  The  plan  of  the  group  is 
exceedingly  simple :  it  is  all  enclosed  in  a 
pointed  arch,  the  large  mass  of  the  tulip 
forming  the  apex;  a  six-foiled  star  on  each 
side;  then  a  jagged  star;  then  a  five-foiled 
star;  then  an  unjagged  star  or  rose;  finally 
a  small  bud,  so  as  to  establish  relation  and 
cadence  through  the  whole  group.  The  profile 
is  very  free  and  fine,  and  the  upper  bar  of  the 
balcony  exceedingly  beautiful  in  effect; — none 
the  less  so  on  account  of  the  marvellously 
simple  means  employed.  A  thin  strip  of  iron 
is  bent  over  a  square  rod ;  out  of  the  edge  of 
this  strip  are  cut  a  series  of  triangular  openings 
— widest  at  top,  leaving  projecting  teeth  of 
iron ;  then  each  of  these  projecting  pieces  gets 
a  little  sharp  tap  with  the  hammer  in  front, 
which  breaks  its  edge  inwards,  tearing  it  a  little 
open  at  the  same  time,  and  the  thing  is  done. 


218  THE   WORK    OF    IRON, 

170.  The  common  forms  of  Swiss  ironwork 
are   less   naturalistic   than   these  Italian    bal- 
conies, depending  more  on  beautiful  arrange- 
ments  of  various   curve;    nevertheless    there 
has  been  a  rich  naturalist  school  at  Fribourg, 
where   a  few  bell-handles  are  still  left,   con- 
sisting *)f  rods  branched  into  laurel  and  other 
leafage.     At    Geneva,    modern    improvements 
have  left  nothing ;  but  at  Annecy  a  little  good 
work  remains;  the  balcony  of  its  old  hotel  de 
ville  especially,  with  a  trout  of  the  lake — pre- 
sumably the  town  arms — forming  its  central 
ornament. 

1 7 1.  I    might   expatiate   all    night — if   you 
would    sit    and    hear    me — on    the    treatment 
of  such   required    subject,   or  introduction    of 
pleasant  caprice  by  the  old  workmen ;  but  we 
have  no  more  time  to  spare,  and  I  must  quit 
this  part  of  our  subject — the  rather  as  I  could 
not  explain  to  you  the  intrinsic  merit  of  such 
ironwork  without  going  fully  into  the  theory 
of  curvilinear  design ;  only  let  me  leave  with 
you  this  one  distinct  assertion — that  the  quaint 
beauty  and  character  of  many  natural  objects, 
such  as  intricate  branches,  grass,  foliage  (es- 
pecially thorny  branches  and  prickly  foliage), 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  2IQ 

as  well  as  that  of  many  animals,  plumed, 
spined,  or  bristled,  is  sculpturally  expressible 
in  iron  only,  and  in  iron  would  be  majestic  and 
impressive  in  the  highest  degree;  and  that 
every  piece  of  metal  work  you  use  might  be, 
rightly  treated,  not  only  a  superb  decoration, 
but  a  most  valuable  abstract  of  portions  of 
natural  forms,  holding  in  dignity  precisely  the 
same  relation  to  the  painted  representation  of 
plants  that  a  statue  does  to  the  painted  form  of 
man.  It  is  difficult  to  give  you  an  idea  of  the 
grace  and  interest  which  the  simplest  objects 
possess  when  their  forms  are  thus  abstracted 
from  among  the  surrounding  of  rich  circum- 
stance which  in  nature  disturbs  the  feebleness 
of  our  attention.  Every  cluster  of  herbage 
would  furnish  fifty  such  groups,  and  every 
•such  group  would  work  into  iron  (fitting  it,  of 
course,  rightly  to  its  service)  with  perfect  ease, 
and  endless  grandeur  of  result. 

172.  III.  IRON  IN  POLICY. — Having  thus 
obtained  some  idea  of  the  use  of  iron  in  art, 
as  dependent  on  its  ductility,  I  need  not,  cer- 
tainly, say  anything  of  its  uses  in  manufacture 
and  commerce;  we  all  of  us  know  enough — 
perhaps  a  little  too  much — about  them.  So  I 


22O 


pass  lastly  to  consider  its  uses  in  policy ;  de- 
pendent chiefly  upon  its  tenacity — that  is  to 
say,  on  its  power  of  bearing  a  pull,  and  re- 
ceiving an  edge.  These  powers,  which  enable 
it  to  pierce,  to  bind,  and  to  smite,  render  it 
fit  for  the  three  great  instruments  by  which 
its  political  action  may  be  simply  typified; 
namely,  the  Plough,  the  Fetter,  and  the  Sword. 

173.  On   our   understanding  the   right  use 
of  these  three  instruments  depend,  of  course, 
all  our  power  as  a  nation,  and  all  our  happi- 
ness as  individuals. 

174.  (i)  THE  PLOUGH. — I  say,  first,  on  our 
understanding   the   right  use   of  the   plough, 
with  which,  in  justice   to  the  fairest  of  our 
labourers,  we  must  always  associate  that  femi- 
nine plough — the  needle.     The  first  require- 
ment for  the  happiness  of  a  nation  is  that  it 
should  understand  the  function  in  this  world 
of  these  two  great  instruments  :  a  happy  nation 
may  be  defined  as  one  in  which  the  husband's 
hand  is  on  the  plough,  and  the  housewife's 
on   the   needle;  so   in   due   time   reaping   its 
golden  harvest,  and  shining  in  golden  vesture : 
and  an  unhappy  nation  is  one  which,  acknow- 
ledging   no    use    of   plough   nor   needle,   will 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  221 

assuredly  at  last  find  its  storehouse  empty 
in  the  famine,  and  its  breast  naked  to  the 
cold. 

175.  Perhaps    you    think    this    is    a    mere 
truism,    which    I    am    wasting    your    time   in 
repeating.     I  wish  it  were. 

176.  By  far  the  greater  part  of  the  suffering 
and    crime  which    exist    at    this    moment    in 
civilized    Europe,    arises    simply   from    people 
not   understanding  this  truism — not   knowing 
that  produce  or  wealth  is  eternally  connected 
by  the  laws  of  heaven  and  earth  with  resolute 
labour;  but  hoping  in  some  way  to  cheat  or 
abrogate  this  everlasting  law  of  life,   and  to 
feed  where  they  have  not  furrowed,  and  be 
warm  where  they  have  not  woven. 

177.  I    repeat,  nearly   all   our   misery   and 
crime    result  from  this  one  misapprehension. 
The  law  of  nature  is,  that  a  certain  quantity 
of  work   is   necessary   to   produce   a   certain 
quantity  of  good,  of  any  kind  whatever.     If 
you  want  knowledge,  you  must  toil  for  it :  if 
food,  you  must  toil   for  it :  and    if  pleasure, 
you  must  toil  for   it.     But  men    do    not  ac- 
knowledge   this    law;   or   strive    to   evade   it, 
hoping  to  get  their  knowledge,  and  food,  and 


THE    WORK    OF    IRON,, 

pleasure  for  nothing:  and  in  this  effort  they 
either  fail  of  getting  them,  and  remain  ignorant 
and  miserable,  or  they  obtain  them  by  making 
other  men  work  for  their  benefit;  and  then 
they  are  tyrants  and  robbers.  Yes,  and  worse 
than  robbers.  I  am  not  one  who  in  the  least 
doubts  or  disputes  the  progress  of  this  century 
in  many  things  useful  to  mankind;  but  it 
seems  to  me  a  very  dark  sign  respecting  us 
that  we  look  with  so  much  indifference  upon 
dishonesty  and  cruelty  in  the  pursuit  of  wealth. 
In  the  dream  of  Nebuchadnezzar,  it  was  only 
the  feet  that  were  part  of  iron  and  part  of 
clay;  but  many  of  us  are  now  getting  so 
cruel  in  our  avarice  that  it  seems  as  if,  in  us, 
the  heart  were  part  of  iron,  part  of  clay. 

T/S.  From  what  I  have  heard  of  the  inhabi- 
tants of  this  town,  I  do  not  doubt  but  that 
I  may  be  permitted  to  do  here  what  I  have 
found  it  usually  thought  elsewhere  highly 
improper  and  absurd  to  do,  namely,  trace  a 
few  Bible  sentences  to  their  practical  result. 

1 79.  You  cannot  but  have  noticed  how  often 
in  those  parts  of  the  Bible  which  are  likely 
to  be  oftenest  opened  when  people  look  for  gui- 
dance, comfort,  or  help  in  the  affairs  of  daily 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  223 

life, — namely,  the  Psalms  and  Proverbs, — 
mention  is  made  of  the  guilt  attaching  to  the 
Oppression  of  the  poor.  Observe :  not  the 
neglect  of  them,  but  the  Oppression  of  them : 
the  word  is  as  frequent  as  it  is  strange. 
You  can  hardly  open  either  of  those  books, 
but  somewhere  in  their  pages  you  will  find 
a  description  of  the  wicked  man's  attempts 
against  the  poor :  such  as, — "  He  doth  ravish 
the  poor  when  he  getteth  him  into  his  net." 

"  He  sitteth  in  the  lurking  places  of  the 
villages;  his  eyes  are  privily  set  against  the 
poor." 

"In  his  pride  he  doth  persecute  the  poor, 
and  blesseth  the  covetous,  whom  God  ab- 
horreth." 

"  His  mouth  is  full  of  deceit  and  fraud ;  in 
the  secret  places  doth  he  murder  the  innocent. 
Have  the  workers  of  iniquity  no  knowledge, 
who  eat  up  my  people  as  they  eat  bread  ? 
They  have  drawn  out  the  sword,  and  bent 
the  bow,  to  cast  down  the  poor  and  needy." 

"They  are  corrupt,  and  speak  wickedly 
concerning  oppression." 

"  Pride  compasseth  them  about  as  a  chain, 
and  violence  as  a  garment." 


224  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

"  Their  poison  is  like  the  poison  of  a  serpent. 
Ye  weigh  the  violence  of  your  hands  in  the 
earth." 

1 80.  Yes :  "  Ye  weigh  the  violence  of  your 
hands  : " — weigh  these  words  as  well.  The 
last  things  we  ever  usually  think  of  weighing 
are  Bible  words.  We  like  to  dream  and  dis- 
pute over  them;  but  to  weigh  them,  and  see 
what  their  true  contents  are — anything  but 
that.  Yet,  weigh  these;  for  I  have  purposely 
taken  all  these  verses,  perhaps  more  striking 
to  you  read  in  this  connection  than  separately 
in  their  places,  out  of  the  Psalms,  because,  for 
all  people  belonging  to  the  Established  Church 
of  this  country,  these  Psalms  are  appointed 
lessons,  portioned  out  to  them  by  their  clergj 
to  be  read  once  through  every  month.  Pre- 
sumably, therefore,  whatever  portions  of  Scrip- 
ture we  may  pass  by  or  forget,  these4  at  all 
events,  must  be  brought  continually  to  our 
observance  as  useful  for  direction  of  daily  life. 
Now,  do  we  ever  ask  ourselves  what  the  real 
meaning  of  these  passages  may  be,  and  who 
these  wicked  people  are,  who  are  "murdering 
the  innocent "  ?  You  know  it  is  rather  singu- 
lar language,  this! — rather  strong  language, 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  225 

we  might,  perhaps,  call  it — hearing  it  for  the 
first  time.  Murder !  and  murder  of  inno- 
cent people ! — nay,  even  a  sort  of  cannibalism. 
Eating  people, — yes,  and  God's  people,  too- 
eating  My  people  as  if  they  were  bread ! 
swords  drawn,  bows  bent,  poison  of  serpents 
mixed !  violence  of  hands  weighed,  measured, 
and  trafficked  with  as  so  much  coin  ! — where 
is  all  this  going  on  ?  Do  you  suppose  it  was 
only  going  on  in  the  time  of  David,  and  that 
nobody  but  Jews  ever  murder  the  poor?  If 
so,  it  would  surely  be  wiser  not  to  mutter  and 
mumble  for  our  daily  lessons  what  does  not 
concern  us ;  but  if  there  be  any  chance  that 
it  may  concern  us,  and  if  this  description,  in 
the  Psalms,  of  human  guilt  is  at  all  generally 
applicable,  as  the  descriptions  in  the  Psalms 
of  human  sorrow  are,  may  it  not  be  advisable 
to  know  wherein  this  guilt  is  being  committed 
round  about  us,  or  by  ourselves  ?  and  when 
we  take  the  words  of  the  Bible  into  our  mouths 
in  a  congregational  way,  to  be  sure  whether 
we  mean  merely  to  chant  a  piece  of  melo- 
dious poetry  relating  to  other  people — (we 
know  not  exactly  to  whom) — or  to  assert  our 
belief  in  facts  bearing  somewhat  stringently  on 


226  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

ourselves  and  our  daily  business.  And  if  you 
make  up  your  minds  to  do  this  no  longer, 
and  take  pains  to  examine  into  the  matter, 
you  will  find  that  these  strange  words,  occur- 
ring as  they  do,  not  in  a  few  places  only,  but 
almost  in  every  alternate  psalm  and  every 
alternate  chapter  of  proverb  or  prophecy,  with 
tremendous  reiteration,  were  not  written  for 
one  nation  or  one  time  only,  but  for  all  nations 
and  languages,  for  all  places  and  all  centuries ; 
and  it  is  as  true  of  the  wicked  man  now  as 
ever  it  was  of  Nabal  or  Dives,  that  "  his  eyes 
are  set  against  the  poor." 

181.  Set  against  the  poor,  mind  you.  Not 
merely  set  azvay  from  the  poor,  so  as  to  neglect 
or  lose  sight  of  them,  but  set  against,  so  as 
to  afflict  and  destroy  them.  This  is  the  main 
point  I  want  to  fix  your  attention  upon.  You 
will  often  hear  sermons  about  neglect  or  care- 
lessness of  the  poor.  But  neglect  and  care- 
lessness are  not  at  all  the  points.  The  Bible 
hardly  ever  talks  about  neglect  of  the  poor. 
It  always  talks  of  oppression  of  the  poor — a 
very  different  matter.  It  does  not  merely  speak 
of  passing  by  on  the  other  side,  and  binding 
up  no  wounds,  but  of  drawing  the  sword  and 


I'M    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY. 


ourselves  smiting  the  men  down.  It  does  not 
charge  us  with  being  idle  in  the  pest-house, 
and  giving  no  medicine,  but  with  being  busy 
in  the  pest-house,  and  giving  much  poison. 

182.  May  we  not  advisedly  look  into   this 
matter  a   little,   even    to-night,   and  ask  first, 
Who  are  these  poor? 

183.  No  country  is,  or  ever  will  be,  without 
them  :  that  is  to  say,  without  the  class  which 
cannot,  on  the  average,  do  more  by  its  labour 
than  provide  for  its  subsistence,  and  which  has 
no  accumulations  of  property  laid  by  on  any 
considerable  scale.     Now  there  are  a  certain 
number  of  this  class  whom  we  cannot  oppress 
with  much  severity.     An  able-bodied  and  in- 
telligent workman  —  sober,  honest,  and  indus- 
trious, —  will   almost    always    command    a    fair 
price  for   his   work,  and   lay  by  enough   in  a 
few  years  to  enable  him  to  hold  his  own   in 
the  labour  market.     But  all  men  are  not  able- 
bodied,   nor  intelligent,   nor   industrious  ;   and 
you  cannot  expect  them  to  be.     Nothing  ap- 
pears to  me  at  once  more  ludicrous  and  more 
melancholy   than   the   way   the   people   of  the 
present    age    usually    talk    about    the    morals 
of    labourers.     You    hardly   ever    address    a 


228  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

labouring  man  upon  his  prospects  in  life,  with- 
out quietly  assuming  that  he  is  to  possess, 
at  starting,  as  a  small  moral  capital  to  begin 
with,  the  virtue  of  Socrates,  the  philosophy  of 
Plato,  and  the  heroism  of  Epaminondas.  "  Be 
assured,  my  good  man," — you  say  to  him, — 
"  that  if  you  work  steadily  for  ten  hours  a  day 
all  your  life  long,  and  if  you  drink  nothing  but 
water,  or  the  very  mildest  beer,  and  live  on 
very  plain  food,  and  never  lose  your  temper, 
and  go  to  church  every  Sunday,  and  always 
remain  content  in  the  position  in  which  Provi- 
dence has  placed  you,  and  never  grumble,  nor 
swear;  and  always  keep  your  clothes  decent, 
and  rise  early,  and  use  every  opportunity  of 
improving  yourself,  you  will  get  on  very  well, 
and  never  come  to  the  parish." 

184.  All  this  is  exceedingly  true  ;  but  before 
giving  the  advice  so  confidently,  it  would  be 
well  if  we  sometimes  tried  it  practically  our- 
selves, and  spent  a  year  or  so  at  some  hard 
manual  labour,  not  of  an  entertaining  kind — 
ploughing  or  digging,  for  instance,  with  a  very 
moderate  allowance  of  beer ;  nothing  but  bread 
and  cheese  for  dinner ;  no  papers  nor  muffins 
in  the  morning;  no  sofas  nor  magazines  at 


229 


night ;  one  small  room  for  parlour  and  kitchen  ; 
and  a  large  family  of  children  always  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor.  If  we  think  we  could, 
under  these  circumstances,  enact  Socrates,  or 
Epaminondas,  entirely  to  our  own  satisfaction, 
we  shall  be  somewhat  justified  in  requiring  the 
same  behaviour  from  our  poorer  neighbours; 
but  if  not,  we  should  surely  consider  a  little 
whether  among  the  various  forms  of  the  op- 
pression of  the  poor,  we  may  not  rank  as  one 
of  the  first  and  likeliest — the  oppression  of 
expecting  too  much  from  them. 

185.  But  let  this  pass;  and  let  it  be  admitted 
that  we  never  can  be  guilty  of  oppression 
towards  the  sober,  industrious,  intelligent, 
exemplary  labourer.  There  will  always  be  in 
the  world  some  who  are  not  altogether  intelli- 
gent and  exemplary ;  we  shall,  I  believe,  to  the 
end  of  time  find  the  majority  somewhat  un- 
intelligent, a  little  inclined  to  be  idle,  and 
occasionally,  on  Saturday  night,  drunk;  we 
must  even  be  prepared  to  hear  of  reprobates 
who  like  skittles  on  Sunday  morning  better 
than  prayers;  and  of  unnatural  parents  who 
send  their  children  out  to  beg  instead  of  to 
go  to  school. 


23O  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

1 86.  Now  these  are  the  kind  of  people 
whom  you  can  oppress,  and  whom  you  do 
oppress,  and  that  to  purpose, — and  with  all  the 
more  cruelty  and  the  greater  sting,  because  it  is 
just  their  own  fault  that  puts  them  into  your 
power.  You  know  the  words  about  wicked 
people  are,  "  He  doth  ravish  the  poor  when  he 
getteth  him  into  his  net"  This  getting  into 
the  net  is  constantly  the  fault  or  folly  of  the 
sufferer — his  own  heedlessness  or  his  own 
indolence;  but  after  he  is  once  in  the  net,  the 
oppression  of  him,  and  making  the  most  of 
his  distress,  are  ours.  The  nets  which  we  use 
against  the  poor  are  just  those  worldly  em- 
barrassments which  either  their  ignorance  or 
their  improvidence  are  almost  certain  at  some 
time  or  other  to  bring  them  into :  then,  just 
at  the  time  when  we  ought  to  hasten  to  help 
them,  and  disentangle  them,  and  teach  them 
how  to  manage  better  in  future,  we  rush  for- 
ward to  pillage  them,  and  force  all  we  can  out 
of  them  in  their  adversity.  For,  to  take  one 
instance  only,  remember  this  is  literally  and 
simply  what  we  do,  whenever  we  buy,  or  try 
to  buy,  cheap  goods — goods  offered  at  a  price 
which  we  know  cannot  be  remunerative  for  the 


231 


labour  involved  in  them.  Whenever  we  buy 
such  goods,  remember  we  are  stealing  some- 
body's labour.  Don't  let  us  mince  the  matter. 
I  say,  in  plain  Saxon,  STEALING — taking  from 
him  the  proper  reward  of  his  work,  and  put- 
ting it  into  our  own  pocket.  You  know  well 
enough  that  the  thing  could  not  have  been 
offered  you  at  that  price,  unless  distress  of 
some  kind  had  forced  the  producer  to  part  with 
it.  You  take  advantage  of  this  distress,  and 
you  force  as  much  out  of  him  as  you  can  under 
the  circumstances.  The  old  barons  of  the 
Middle  Ages  used,  in  general,  the  thumbscrew 
to  extort  property;  we  moderns  use,  in  pre- 
ference, hunger,  or  domestic  affliction  :  but  the 
fact  of  extortion  remains  precisely  the  same. 
Whether  we  force  the  man's  property  from 
him  by  pinching  his  stomach,  or  pinching  his 
fingers,  makes  some  difference  anatomically; 
— morally,  none  whatsoever :  we  use  a  form  of 
torture  of  some  sort  in  order  to  make  him  give 
up  his  property;  we  use,  indeed,  the  man's 
own  anxieties,  instead  of  the  rack;  and  his 
immediate  peril  of  starvation,  instead  of  the 
pistol  at  the  head ;  but  otherwise  we  differ 
from  Front  de  Bceuf,  or  Dick  Turpin,  merely 


232 


in  being  less  dexterous,  more  cowardly,  and 
more  cruel.  More  cruel,  I  say,  because  the 
fierce  baron  and  the  redoubted  highwayman 
are  reported  to  have  robbed,  at  least  by  pre- 
ference, only  the  rich ;  we  steal  habitually 
from  the  poor.  We  buy  our  liveries,  and  gild 
our  prayer-books,  with  pilfered  pence  out  of 
children's  and  sick  men's  wages,  and  thus 
ingeniously  dispose  a  given  quantity  of  Theft, 
so  that  it  may  produce  the  largest  possible 
measure  of  delicately-distributed  suffering. 

187.  But  this  is  only  one  form  of  common 
oppression  of  the  poor — only  one  way  of 
taking  our  hands  off  the  Plough-handle,  and 
binding  another's  upon  it.  The  first  way  of 
doing  it  is  the  economical  way — the  way  pre- 
ferred by  prudent  and  virtuous  people.  The 
bolder  way  is  the  acquisitive  way : — the  way 
of  speculation.  You  know  we  are  considering 
at  present  the  various  modes  in  which  a  na- 
tion corrupts  itself,  by  not  acknowledging  the 
eternal  connection  between  its  plough  and  its 
pleasure ; — by  striving  to  get  pleasure,  without 
working  for  it.  Well,  I  say  the  first  and  com- 
monest way  of  doing  so  is  to  try  to  get  the 
product  of  other  people's  work,  and  enjoy  it 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  233 

ourselves,  by  cheapening  their  labour  in  times 
of  distress ;  then  the  second  way  is  that  grand 
one  of  watching  the  chances  of  the  market ; — 
the  way  of  speculation.  Of  course  there  are 
some  speculations  that  are  fair  and  honest — 
speculations  made  with  our  own  money,  and 
which  do  not  involve  in  their  success  the  loss, 
by  others,  of  what  we  gain.  But  generally 
modern  speculation  involves  much  risk  to 
others,  with  chance  of  profit  only  to  ourselves ; 
even  in  its  best  conditions  it  is  merely  one  of 
the  forms  of  gambling  or  treasure-hunting:  it 
is  either  leaving  the  steady  plough  and  the 
steady  pilgrimage  of  life,  to  look  for  silver 
mines  beside  the  way;  or  else  it  is  the  full 
stop  beside  the  dice-tables  in  Vanity  Fair — 
investing  all  the  thoughts  and  passions  of  the 
soul  in  the  fall  of  the  cards,  and  choosing 
rather  the  wild  accidents  of  idle  fortune  than 
the  calm  and  accumulative  rewards  of  toil. 
And  this  is  destructive  enough,  at  least  to 
our  peace  and  virtue.  But  it  is  usually  de- 
structive of  far  more  than  our  peace,  or  our 
virtue.  Have  you  ever  deliberately  set  your- 
selves to  imagine  and  measure  the  suffering, 
the  guilt,  and  the  mortality  caused  necessarily 


234  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

by  the  failure  of  any  large-dealing  merchant,  or 
largely-branched  bank  ?  Take  it  at  the  lowest 
possible  supposition — count,  at  the  fewest  you 
choose,  the  families  whose  means  of  support 
have  been  involved  in  the  catastrophe.  Then, 
on  the  morning  after  the  intelligence  of  ruin, 
let  us  go  forth  amongst  them  in  earnest 
thought ;  let  us  use  that  imagination  which  we 
waste  so  often  on  fictitious  sorrow,  to  measure 
the  stern  facts  of  that  multitudinous  distress; 
strike  open  the  private  doors  of  their  cham- 
bers, and  enter  silently  into  the  midst  of  the 
domestic  misery;  look  upon  the  old  men, 
who  had  reserved  for  their  failing  strength 
some  remainder  of  rest  in  the  evening-tide  of 
life,  cast  helplessly  back  into  its  trouble  and 
tumult ;  look  upon  the  active  strength  of  mid- 
dle age  suddenly  blasted  into  incapacity — its 
hopes  crushed,  and  its  hardly-earned  rewards 
snatched  away  in  the  same  instant — at  once 
the  heart  withered,  and  the  right  arm  snapped  ; 
look  upon  the  piteous  children,  delicately  nur- 
tured, whose  soft  eyes,  now  large  with  wonder 
at  their  parents'  grief,  must  soon  be  set  in  the 
dimness  of  famine;  and,  far  more  than  all 
this,  look  forward  to  the  length  of  sorrow 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  235 

beyond — to  the  hardest  labour  of  life,  now 
to  be  undergone  either  in  all  the  severity 
of  unexpected  and  inexperienced  trial,  or  else, 
more  bitter  still,  to  be  begun  again,  and  en- 
dured for  the  second  time,  amidst  the  ruins 
of  cherished  hopes  and  the  feebleness  of  ad- 
vancing years,  embittered  by  the  continual 
sting  and  taunt  of  the  inner  feeling  that  it  has 
all  been  brought  about,  not  by  the  fair  course 
of  appointed  circumstance,  but  by  miserable 
chance  and  wanton  treachery ;  and,  last  of  all, 
look  beyond  this — to  the  shattered  destinies  of 
those  who  have  faltered  under  the  trial,  and 
sunk  past  recovery  to  despair.  And  then  con- 
sider whether  the  hand  which  has  poured  this 
poison  into  all  the  springs  of  life  be  one  whit 
less  guiltily  red  with  human  blood  than  that 
which  literally  pours  the  hemlock  into  the  cup, 
or  guides  the  dagger  to  the  heart  ?  We  read 
with  horror  of  the  crimes  of  a  Borgia  or  a 
Tophana;  but  there  never  lived  Borgias  such 
as  live  now  in  the  midst  of  us.  The  cruel  lady 
of  Ferrara  slew  only  in  the  strength  of  passion 
— she  slew  only  a  few,  those  who  thwarted  her 
purposes  or  who  vexed  her  soul ;  she  slew 
sharply  and  suddenly,  embittering  the  fate  of 


236  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

her  victims  with  no  foretastes  of  destruction,  no 
prolongations  of  pain ;  and,  finally  and  chiefly, 
she  slew  not  without  remorse  nor  without  pity. 
But  we,  in  no  storm  of  passion, — in  no  blind- 
ness of  wrath, — we,  in  calm  and  clear  and 
untempted  selfishness,  pour  our  poison — not 
for  a  few  only,  but  for  multitudes; — not  for 
those  who  have  wronged  us,  or  resisted, — but 
for  those  who  have  trusted  us  and  aided ; — we, 
not  with  sudden  gift  of  merciful  and  uncon- 
scious death,  but  with  slow  waste  of  hunger 
and  weary  rack  of  disappointment  and  despair ! 
—we,  lastly  and  chiefly,  do  our  murdering,  not 
with  any  pauses  of  pity  or  scorching  of  con- 
science, but  in  facile  and  forgetful  calm  of  mind 
— and  so,  forsooth,  read  day  by  day,  com- 
placently, as  if  they  meant  any  one  else  than 
ourselves,  the  words  that  for  ever  describe  the 
wicked :  "  The  poison  of  asps  is  under  their 
lips,  and  their  feet  are  swift  to  shed  blood" 

1 88.  You  may  indeed,  perhaps,  think  there 
is  some  excuse  for  many  in  this  matter,  just 
because  the  sin  is  so  unconscious;  that  the 
guilt  is  not  so  great  when  it  is  unapprehended, 
and  that  it  is  much  more  pardonable  to  slay 
heedlessly  than  purposefully.  I  believe  no 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  237 

feeling  can  be  more  mistaken;  and  that  in 
reality,  and  in  the  sight  of  heaven,  the  callous 
indifference  which  pursues  its  own  interests 
at  any  cost  of  life,  though  it  does  not  definitely 
adopt  the  purpose  of  sin,  is  a  state  of  mind 
at  once  more  heinous  and  more  hopeless  than 
the  wildest  aberrations  of  ungoverned  passion. 
There  may  be,  in  the  last  case,  some  elements 
of  good  and  of  redemption  still  mingled  in 
the  character ;  but,  in  the  other,  few  or  none. 
There  may  be  hope  for  the  man  who  has  slain 
his  enemy  in  anger; — hope  even  for  the  man 
who  has  betrayed  his  friend  in  fear;  but  what 
hope  for  him  who  trades  in  unregarded  blood, 
and  builds  his  fortune  on  unrepented  treason  ? 
189.  But,  however  this  may  be,  and  wher- 
ever you  may  think  yourselves  bound  in  justice 
to  impute  the  greater  sin,  be  assured  that  the 
question  is  one  of  responsibilities  only,  not  of 
facts.  The  definite  result  of  all  our  modern 
haste  to  be  rich  is  assuredly,  and  constantly, 
the  murder  of  a  certain  number  of  persons  by 
our  hands  every  year.  I  have  not  time  to  go 
into  the  details  of  another — on  the  whole,  the 
broadest  and  terriblest  way  in  which  we  cause 
the  destruction  of  the  poor — namely,  the  way 


238  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

of  luxury  and  waste,  destroying,  in  improvi- 
dence, what  might  have  been  the  support  of 
thousands ;  *  but  if  you  follow  out  the  subject 
for  yourselves  at  home — and  what  I  have 
endeavoured  to  lay  before  you  to-night  will 
only  be  useful  to  you  if  you  do — you  will 
find  that  wherever  and  whenever  men  are 
endeavouring  to  make  money  hastily,  and  to 
avoid  the  labour  which  Providence  has  ap- 
pointed to  be  the  only  source  of  honourable 
profit ; — and  also  wherever  and  whenever  they 
permit  themselves  to  spend  it  luxuriously,  with- 
out reflecting  how  far  they  are  misguiding 
the  labour  of  others; — there  and  then,  in  either 
case,  they  are  literally  and  infallibly  causing, 
for  their  own  benefit  or  their  own  pleasure, 

*  The  analysis  of  this  error  will  be  found  completely 
carried  out  in  my  lectures  on  the  political  economy  of  art. 
And  it  is  an  error  worth  analyzing  ;  for  until  it  is  finally 
trodden  under  foot,  no  healthy  political,  economical,  or 
moral  action  is  possible  in  any  state.  I  do  not  say  this 
impetuously  or  suddenly,  for  I  have  investigated  this  subject 
as  deeply,  and  as  long,  as  my  own  special  subject  of  art ; 
and  the  principles  of  political  economy  which  I  have  stated 
in  those  lectures  are  as  sure  as  the  principles  of  Euclid. 
Foolish  readers  doubted  their  certainty  because  I  told  them 
I  had  "never  read  any  books  on  Political  Economy."  Did 
they  suppose  I  had  got  my  knowledge  of  art  by  reading 
books? 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  239 

a  certain  annual  number  of  human  deaths; 
that,  therefore,  the  choice  given  to  every  man 
born  into  this  world  is,  simply,  whether  he 
will  be  a  labourer  or  an  assassin;  and  that 
whosoever  has  not  his  hand  on  the  Stilt  of 
the  plough,  has  it  on  the  Hilt  of  the  dagger. 

190.  It  would  also  be  quite  vain  for  me  to 
endeavour  to  follow  out  this  evening  the  lines 
of  thought  which  would  be  suggested  by  the 
other  two  great  political  uses  of  iron  in   the 
Fetter  and   the  Sword  :    a  few  words  only   1 
must  permit  myself  respecting  both. 

191.  (2)  THE  FETTER. — As  the  plough  is 
the  typical  instrument  of  industry,  so  the  fetter 
is  the  typical  instrument  of  the  restraint  or 
subjection  necessary  in  a  nation — either  lite- 
rally,   for    its    evildoers,    or    figuratively,    in 
accepted    laws,   for   its   wise   and  good    men. 
You  have   to  choose  between   this   figurative 
and  literal  use ;  for  depend  upon  it,  the  more 
laws  you  accept,  the  fewer  penalties  you  will 
have  to  endure,  and  the  fewer  punishments  to 
enforce.      For  wise  laws  and  just   restraints 
are  to  a  noble  nation  not  chains,  but  chain 
mail — strength  and  defence,  though  something 
also  of  an  incumbrance.     And  this  necessity 


24O  THE    WORK    OF    IRON, 

of  restraint,  remember,  is  just  as  honourable 
to  man  as  the  necessity  of  labour.  You  hear 
every  day  greater  numbers  of  foolish  people 
speaking  about  liberty,  as  if  it  were  such  an 
honourable  thing:  so  far  from  being  that,  it 
is  on  the  whole,  and  in  the  broadest  sense, 
dishonourable,  and  an  attribute  of  the  lower 
creatures.  No  human  being,  however  great, 
or  powerful,  was  ever  so  free  as  a  fish.  There 
is  always  something  that  he  must,  or  must 
not  do;  while  the  fish  may  do  whatever  he 
likes.  All  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  put 
together  are  not  half  so  large  as  the  sea,  and 
all  the  railroads  and  wheels  that  ever  were, 
or  will  be,  invented  are  not  so  easy  as  fins. 
You  will  find  on  fairly  thinking  of  it,  that  it 
is  his  Restraint  which  is  honourable  to  man, 
not  his  Liberty;  and,  what  is  more,  it  is 
restraint  which  is  honourable  even  in  the 
/  lower  animals.  A  butterfly  is  much  more  free 
I  than  a  bee ;  but  you  honour  the  bee  more, 
just  because  it  is  subject  to  certain  laws  which 
fit  it  for  orderly  function  in  bee  society.  And 
throughout  the  world,  of  the  two  abstract 
things,  liberty  and  restraint,  restraint  is  always 
the  more  honourable.  It  is  true,  indeed,  that 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  24! 

in  these  and  all  other  matters  you  never  can 
reason  finally  from  the  abstraction,  for  both 
liberty  and  restraint  are  good  when  they  are 
nobly  chosen,  and  both  are  bad  when  they 
are  basely  chosen ;  but  of  the  two,  I  repeat, 
it  is  restraint  which  characterizes  the  higher 
creature,  and  betters  the  lower  creature :  and, 
from  the  ministering  of  the  archangel  to  the 
labour  of  the  insect, — from  the  poising  of  the 
planets  to  the  gravitation  of  a  grain  of  dust, 
—the  power  and  glory  of  all  creatures,  and 
all  matter,  consist  in  their  obedience,  not  in 
their  freedom.  The  Sun  has  no  liberty — a  dead 
leaf  has  much.  The  dust  of  which  you  are 
formed  has  no  liberty.  Its  liberty  will  come 
—with  its  corruption. 

192.  And,  therefore,  I  say  boldly,  though 
it  seems  a  strange  thing  to  say  in  England, 
that  as  the  first  power  of  a  nation  consists  in 
knowing  how  to  guide  the  Plough,  its  second 
power  consists  in  knowing  how  to  wear  the 
Fetter  :— 

*93-  (3)  THE  SWORD.— And  its  third 
power,  which  perfects  it  as  a  nation,  consists 
in  knowing  how  to  wield  the  sword,  so  that 
the  three  talismans  of  national  existence  are 

Q 


242 


expressed  in  these  three  short  words — Labour, 
Law,  and  Courage. 

394.  This  last  virtue  we  at  least  possess; 
and  all  that  is  to  be  alleged  against  us  is  that 
we  do  not  honour  it  enough.     I  do  not  mean 
honour  by  acknowledgment  of  service,  though 
sometimes  we  are  slow  in    doing   even  that. 
But  we  do  not  honour  it  enough  in  consistent 
regard  to  the  lives  and  souls  of  our  soldiers. 
How  wantonly  we  have  wasted  their  lives  you 
have  seen  lately  in  the  reports  of  their  mortality 
by  disease,    which    a   little    care   and    science 
might    have    prevented;   but  we   regard    their 
souls  less  than  their  lives,  by  keeping  them  in 
ignorance  and    idleness,  and    regarding   them 
merely  as  instruments   of  battle.     The   argu- 
ment brought  forward  for  the  maintenance  of 
a  standing  army  usually  refers  only  to  expedi- 
ency in  the  case  of  unexpected  war,  whereas, 
one  of  the  chief  reasons  for  the  maintenance 
of  an  army  is  the  advantage  of  the  military 
system  as  a  method  of  education.     The  most 
fiery  and   headstrong,  who  are  often  also  the 
most  gifted  and  generous  of  your  youths,  have 
always  a  tendency  both  in  the  lower  and  upper 
classes  to  offer  themselves  for  your  soldiers: 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  243 

others,  weak  and  unserviceable  in  the  civil 
capacity,  are  tempted  or  entrapped  into  the 
army  in  a  fortunate  hour  for  them  :  out  of  this 
fiery  or  uncouth  material,  it  is  only  soldier's 
discipline  which  can  bring  the  full  value  and 
power.  Even  at  present,  by  mere  force  of 
order  and  authority,  the  army  is  the  salvation 
of  myriads;  and  men  who,  under  other  cir- 
cumstances, would  have  sunk  into  lethargy 
or  dissipation,  are*  redeemed  into  noble  life  by 
a  service  which  at  once  summons  and  directs 
their  energies.  How  much  more  than  this, 
military  education  is  capable  of  doing,  you  will 
find  only  when  you  make  it  education  indeed. 
We  have  no  excuse  for  leaving  our  private 
soldiers  at  their  present  level  of  ignorance  and 
want  of  refinement,  for  we  shall  invariably  find 
that,  both  among  officers  and  men,  the  gentlest 
and  best  informed  are  the  bravest;  still  less 
have  we  excuse  for  diminishing  our  army, 
either  in  the  present  state  of  political  events, 
or,  as  I  believe,  in  any  other  conjunction  of 
them  that  for  many  a  year  will  be  possible 
in  this  world. 

195.  You  may,  perhaps,  be  surprised  at  my 
saying  this;  perhaps  surprised  at  my  implying 


244 


that  war  itself  can  be  right,  or  necessary,  or 
noble  at  all.  Nor  do  I  speak  of  all  war  as 
necessary,  nor  of  all  war  as  noble.  Both  peace 
and  war  are  noble  or  ignoble  according  to  their 
kind  and  occasion.  No  man  has  a  profounder 
sense  of  the  horror  and  guilt  of  ignoble  war 
than  I  have :  I  have  personally  seen  its  effects, 
upon  nations,  of  unmitigated  evil,  on  soul  and 
body,  with  perhaps  as  much  pity,  and  as  much 
bitterness  of  indignation,  as  any  of  those  whom 
you  will  hear  continually  declaiming  in  the 
cause  of  peace.  But  peace  may  be  sought  in 
two  ways.  One  way  is  as  Gideon  sought  it, 
when  he  built  his  altar  in  Ophrah,  naming  it, 
"  God  send  peace,"  yet  sought  this  peace  that 
he  loved,  as  he  was  ordered  to  seek  it,  and  the 
peace  was  sent,  in  God's  way  ;• — "  the  country 
was  in  quietness  forty  years  in  the  days  of 
Gideon."  And  the  other  way  of  seeking  peace 
is  as  Menahem  sought  it,  when  he  gave  the 
King  of  Assyria  a  thousand  talents  of  silver, 
that  "his  hand  might  be  with  him."  That  is, 
you  may  either  win  your  peace,  or  buy  it : — 
win  it,  by  resistance  to  evil ; — buy  it,  by  com- 
promise with  evil.  You  may  buy  your  peace, 
wh'h  silenced  consciences; — you  may  buy  it, 


IN    NATURE,    ART,    AND    POLICY.  245 

with  broken  vows, — buy  it,  with  lying  words, 
— buy  it,  with  base  connivances, —  buy  it,  with 
the  blood  of  the  slain,  and  the  cry  of  the 
captive,  and  the  silence  of  lost  souls — over 
hemispheres  of  the  earth,  while  you  sit  smiling 
at  your  serene  hearths,  lisping  comfortable 
prayers  evening  and  morning,  and  counting 
your  pretty  Protestant  beads  (which  are  flat, 
and  of  gold,  instead  of  round,  and  of  ebony, 
as  the  monks'  ones  were),  and  so  mutter  con- 
tinually to  yourselves,  "  Peace,  peace,"  when 
there  is  No  peace;  but  only  captivity  and 
death,  for  you,  as  well  as  for  those  you  leave 
unsaved ; — and  yours  darker  than  theirs. 

196.  I  cannot  utter  to  you  what  I  would  in 
this  matter;  we  all  see  too  dimly,  as  yet,  what 
our  great  world-duties  are,  to  allow  any  of  us 
to  try  to  outline  their  enlarging  shadows.  But 
think  over  what  I  have  said,  and  as  you  re- 
turn to  your  quiet  homes  to-night,  reflect  that 
their  peace  was  not  won  for  you  by  your 
own  hands ;  but  by  theirs  who  long  ago  jeop- 
arded their  lives  for  you,  their  children;  and 
remember  that  neither  this  inherited  peace,  nor 
any  other,  can  be  kept,  but  through  the  same 
jeopardy.  No  peace  was  ever  won  from  Fate 


246  THE    WORK    OF    IRON. 

by  subterfuge  or  agreement;  no  peace  is  ever 
in  store  for  any  of  us,  but  that  which  we  shall 
win  by  victory  over  shame  or  sin; — victory 
over  the  sin  that  oppresses,  as  well  as  over 
that  which  corrupts.  For  many  a  year  to 
come,  the  sword  of  every  righteous  nation 
must  be  whetted  to  save  or  to  subdue;  nor 
will  it  be  by  patience  of  others'  suffering,  but 
by  the  offering  of  your  own,  that  you  will  ever 
draw  nearer  to  the  time  when  the  great  change 
shall  pass  upon  the  iron  of  the  earth ; — when 
men  shall  beat  their  swords  into  ploughshares, 
and  their  spears  into  priming-hooks;  neither 
shall  they  learn  war  any  more. 


APPENDICES. 


APPENDIX  I. 


RIGHT  AND  WRONG. 

READERS  who  are  using  my  c  Elements  of  Drawing ' 
may  be  surprised  by  my  saying  here  that  Tintoret 
may  lead  them  wrong;  while  at  page  345  of 
the  '  Elements '  he  is  one  of  the  six  men  named 
as  being  "always  right." 

I  bring  the  apparent  inconsistency  forward  at 
the  beginning  of  this  Appendix,  because  the  illus- 
tration of  it  will  be  farther  useful  in  showing  the 
real  nature  of  the  self-contradiction  which  is  often 
alleged  against  me  by  careless  readers. 

It  is  not  only  possible,  but  a  frequent  condition 
of  human  action,  to  do  right  and  be  right — yet 
so  as  to  mislead  other  people  if  they  rashly  imi- 
tate the  thing  done.  For  there  are  many  rights 
which  are  not  absolutely,  but  relatively  right — right 
only  for  that  person  to  do  under  those  circum- 
stances,— not  for  this  person  to  do  under  other 
circumstances. 

Thus  it  stands  between  Titian  and  Tintoret. 
Titian  is  always  absolutely  Right.  You  may  imi- 
tate him  with  entire  security  that  you  are  doing 
249 


25O  APPENDICES. 

the  best  thing  that  can  possibly  be  done  for  the 
purpose  in  hand.  Tintoret  is  always  relatively 
Right — relatively  to  his  own  aims  and  peculiar 
powers.  But  you  must  quite  understand  Tintoret 
before  you  can  be  sure  what  his  aim  was,  and 
why  he  was  then  right  in  doing  what  would  not 
be  right  always.  If,  however,  you  take  the  pains 
thus  to  understand  him,  he  becomes  entirely  in- 
structive and  exemplary,  just  as  Titian  is :  and 
therefore  I  have  placed  him  among  those  who 
are  "always  right,"  and  you  can  only  study  him 
rightly  with  that  reverence  for  him. 

Then  the  artists  who  are  named  as  "  admitting 
question  of  right  and  wrong,"  are  those  who  from 
some  mischance  of  circumstance  or-  shortcoming 
in  their  education,  do  not  always  do  right,  even 
with  relation  to  their  own  aims  and  powers. 

Take  for  example  the  quality  of  imperfection 
in  drawing  form.  There  are  many  pictures  of 
Tintoret  in  which  the  trees  are  drawn  with  a  few 
curved  flourishes  of  the  brush  instead  of  leaves. 
That  is  (absolutely)  wrong.  If  you  copied  the 
tree  as  a  model,  you  would  be  going  very  wrong 
indeed.  But  it  is  relatively,  and  for  Tintoret's 
purposes,  right.  In  the  nature  of  the  superficial 
work  you  will  find  there  must  have  been  a  cause 
for  it.  Somebody  perhaps  wanted  the  picture 
in  a  hurry  to  fill  a  dark  corner.  Tintoret  good- 
naturedly  did  all  he  could — painted  the  figures 
tolerably — had  five  minutes  left  only  for  the  trees, 


APPENDIX    I.  251 

when  the  servant  came.  "Let  him  wait  another 
five  minutes."  And  this  is  the  best  foliage  we  can 
do  in  the  time.  Entirely,  admirably,  unsurpassably 
right,  under  the  conditions.  Titian  would  not 
have  worked  under  them,  but  Tintoret  was  kinder 
and  humbler ;  yet  he  may  lead  you  wrong  if  you 
don't  understand  him.  Or,  perhaps,  another  day, 
somebody  came  in  while  Tintoret  was  at  work, 
who  tormented  Tintoret.  An  ignoble  person ! 
Titian  would  have  been  polite  to  him,  and  gone 
on  steadily  with  his  trees.  Tintoret  cannot  stand 
the  ignobleness ;  it  is  unendurably  repulsive  and 
discomfiting  to  him.  "  The  Black  Plague  take 
him — and  the  trees,  too  !  Shall  such  a  fellow  see 
me  paint  ? ''  And  the  trees  go  all  to  pieces.  This, 
in  you,  would  be  mere  ill-breeding  and  ill-temper. 
In  Tintoret  it  was  one  of  the  necessary  conditions 
of  his  intense  sensibility;  had  he  been  capable, 
then,  of  keeping  his  temper,  he  could  never  have 
done  his  greatest  works.  Let  the  trees  go  to 
pieces,  by  all  means ;  it  is  quite  right  they  should ; 
he  is  always  right. 

But  in  the  background  of  Gainsborough  you 
would  find  the  trees  unjustifiably  gone  to  pieces. 
The  carelessness  of  form  there  is  definitely  pur- 
posed by  him  ;  adopted  as  an  advisable  thing ;  and 
therefore  it  is  both  absolutely  and  relatively  wrong; 
— it  indicates  his  being  imperfectly  educated  as  a 
painter,  and  not  having  brought  out  all  his  powers. 
It  may  still  happen  that  the  man  whose  work  is 


252  APPENDICES. 

thus  partially  erroneous  is  greater  far  than  others 
who  have  fewer  faults.  Gainsborough's  and 
Reynolds'  wrongs  are  more  charming  than  almost 
anybody  else's  right.  Still,  they  occasionally  are 
wrong — but  the  Venetians  and  Velasquez,*  never. 
I  ought,  perhaps,  to  have  added  in  that  Man- 
chester address  (only  one  does  not  like  to  say 
things  that  shock  people),  some  words  of  warning 
against  painters  likely  to  mislead  the  student.  For 
indeed,  though  here  and  there  something  may  be 
gained  by  looking  at  inferior  men,  there  is  always 
more  to  be  gained  by  looking  at  the  best;  and 
there  is  not  time,  with  all  the  looking  of  human 
life,  to  exhaust  even  one  great  painter's  instruction. 
How  then  shall  we  dare  to  waste  our  sight  and 
thoughts  on  inferior  ones,  even  if  we  could  do  so, 
which  we  rarely  can,  without  danger  of  being  led 
astray?  Nay,  strictly  speaking,  what  people  call 
inferior  painters  are  in  general  no  painters.  Artists 
are  divided  by  an  impassable  gulf  into  the  men 
who  can  paint,  and  who  cannot.  The  men  who 
can  paint  often  fall  short  of  what  they  should 
have  done ;  are  repressed,  or  defeated,  or  otherwise 
rendered  inferior  one  to  another ;  still  there  is  an 
everlasting  barrier  between  them  and  the  men  who 
cannot  paint — who  can  only  in  various  popular 
ways  pretend  to  paint.  And  if  once  you  know  the 
difference,  there  is  always  some  good  to  be  got 

*  At  least  after  his  style  was  formed ;  early  pictures,  like 
the  Adoration  of  the  Magi  in  our  Gallery,  are  of  little  value. 


APPENDIX    I.  253 

by  looking  at  a  real  painter — seldom  anything 
but  mischief  to  be  got  out  of  a  false  one ;  but 
do  not  suppose  real  painters  are  common.  I  do 
not  speak  of  living  men ;  but  among  those  who 
labour  no  more,  in  this  England  of  ours,  since 
it  first  had  a  school,  we  have  had  only  five 
real  painters  ; — Reynolds,  Gainsborough,  Hogarth, 
Richard  Wilson,  and  Turner. 

The  reader  may,  perhaps,  think  I  have  forgotten 
Wilkie.  No.  I  once  much  overrated  him  as  an 
expressional  draughtsman,  not  having  then  studied 
the  figure  long  enough  to  be  able  to  detect  super- 
ficial sentiment.  But  his  colour  I  have  never 
praised  ;  it  is  entirely  false  and  valueless.  And  it 
would  be  unjust  to  English  art  if  I  did  not  here 
express  my  regret  that  the  admiration  of  Constable, 
already  harmful  enough  in  England,  is  extend- 
ing even  into  France.  There  was,  perhaps,  the 
making,  in  Constable,  of  a  second  or  third-rate 
painter,  if  any  careful  discipline  had  developed  in 
him  the  instincts  which,  though  unparalleled  for 
narrowness,  were,  as  far  as  they  went,  true.  But 
as  it  is,  he  is  nothing  more  than  an  industrious 
and  innocent  amateur  blundering  his  way  to  a 
superficial  expression  of  one  or  two  popular  aspects 
of  common  nature. 

And  my  readers  may  depend  upon  it,  that  all 
blame  which  I  express  in  this  sweeping  way  is 
trustworthy.  I  have  often  had  to  repent  of  over- 
praise of  inferior  men ;  and  continually  to  repent 


254  APPENDICES. 

of  insufficient  praise  of  great  men  ;  but  of  broad 
condemnation,  never.  For  I  do  not  speak  it  but 
after  the  most  searching  examination  of  the  matter, 
and  under  stern  sense  of  need  for  it :  so  that 
whenever  the  reader  is  entirely  shocked  by  what 
I  say,  he  may  be  assured  every  word  is  true.*  It 
is  just  because  it  so  much  offends  him,  that  it  was 
necessary ;  and  knowing  that  it  must  offend  him, 
I  should  not  have  ventured  to  say  it,  without 
certainty  of  its  truth.  I  say  "  certainty,"  for  it  is 
just  as  possible  to  be  certain  whether  the  drawing 
of  a  tree  or  a  stone  is  true  or  false,  as  whether 
the  drawing  of  a  triangle  is;  and  what  I  mean 
primarily  by  saying  that  a  picture  is  in  all  respects 
worthless,  is  that  it  is  in  all  respects  False  :  which 
is  not  a  matter  of  opinion  at  all,  but  a  matter  of 
ascertainable  fact,  such  as  I  never  assert  till  I 
have  ascertained.  And  the  thing  so  commonly  said 
about  my  writings,  that  they  are  rather  persuasive 
than  just ;  and  that  though  my  "  language  "  may  be 
good,  I  am  an  unsafe  guide  in  art  criticism,  is,  like 
many  other  popular  estimates  in  such  matters,  not 
merely  untrue,  but  precisely  the  reverse  of  the 
truth  ;  it  is  truth,  like  reflections  in  water,  distorted 
much  by  the  shaking  receptive  surface,  and  in 

*  He  must,  however,  be  careful  to  distinguish  blame — 
however  strongly  expressed,  of  some  especial  fault  or  error 
in  a  true  painter, — from  these  general  statements  of  infe- 
riority or  worthlessness.  Thus  he  will  find  me  continually 
laughing  at  Wilson's  tree-painting  ;  not  because  Wilson  could 
not  paint,  but  because  he  had  never  looked  at  a  tree. 


APPENDIX    I.  255 

every  particular,  upside  down.  For  my  "lan- 
guage," until  within  the  last  six  or  seven  years,  was 
loose,  obscure,  and  more  or  less  feeble ;  and  still, 
though  I  have  tried  hard  to  mend  it,  the  best  I 
can  do  is  inferior  to  much  contemporary  work. 
No  description  that  I  have  ever  given  of  anything 
is  worth  four  lines  of  Tennyson ;  and  in  serious 
thought,  my  half-pages  are  generally  only  worth 
about  as  much  as  a  single  sentence  either  of  his, 
or  of  Carlyle's.  They  are,  I  well  trust,  as  true  and 
necessary ;  but  they  are  neither  so  concentrated 
nor  so  well  put.  But  I  am  an  entirely  safe  guide 
in  art  judgment :  and  that  simply  as  the  necessary 
result  of  my  having  given  the  labour  of  life  to  the 
determination  of  facts,  rather  than  to  the  following 
of  feelings  or  theories.  Not,  indeed,  that  my  work 
is  free  from  mistakes ;  it  admits  many,  and  always 
must  admit  many,  from  its  scattered  range ;  but, 
in  the  long  run,  it  will  be  found  to  enter  sternly 
and  searchingly  into  the  nature  of  what  it  deals 
with,  and  the  kind  of  mistake  it  admits  is  never 
dangerous — consisting,  usually,  in  pressing  the 
truth  too  far.  It  is  quite  easy,  for  instance,  to  take 
an  accidental  irregularity  in  a  piece  of  architecture, 
which  less  careful  examination  would  never  have 
detected  at  all,  for  an  intentional  irregularity; 
quite  possible  to  misinterpret  an  obscure  passage 
in  a  picture,  which  a  less  earnest  observer  would 
never  have  tried  to  interpret.  But  mistakes  of 
this  kind — honest,  enthusiastic  mistakes — are  never 


256  APPENDICES. 

harmful ;  because  they  are  always  made  in  a  true 
direction, — falls  forward  on  the  road,  not  into  the 
ditch  beside  it ;  and  they  are  sure  to  be  corrected 
by  the  next  comer.  But  the  blunt  and  dead 
mistakes  made  by  too  many  other  writers  on  art 
— the  mistakes  of  sheer  inattention,  and  want  of 
sympathy — are  mortal.  The  entire  purpose  of  a 
great  thinker  may  be  difficult  to  fathom,  and  we 
may  be  over  and  over  again  more  or  less  mistaken 
in  guessing  at  his  meaning ;  but  the  real,  profound, 
nay,  quite  bottomless,  and  unredeemable  mistake, 
is  the  fool's  thought— that  he  had  no  meaning. 

I  do  not  refer,  in  saying  this,  to  any  of  my  state- 
ments respecting  subjects  which  it  has  been  my 
main  work  to  study :  as  far  as  I  am  aware,  I  have 
never  yet  misinterpreted  any  picture  of  Turner's, 
though  often  remaining  blind  to  the  half  of  what 
he  had  intended :  neither  have  I  as  yet  found 
anything  to  correct  in  my  statements  respecting 
Venetian  architecture;*  but  in  casual  references 
to  what  has  been  quickly  seen,  it  is  impossible  to 
guard  wholly  against  error,  without  losing  much 
valuable  observation,  true  in  ninety-nine  cases  out 
of  a  hundred,  and  harmless  even  when  erroneous. 

*  The  subtle  proportions  of  the  Byzantine  Palaces,  given 
in  precise  measurements  in  the  second  volume  of  '  The  Stones 
of  Venice,'  were  alleged  by  architects  to  be  accidental  irregu- 
larities. They  will  be  found,  by  every  one  who  will  take  the 
pains  to  examine  them,  most  assuredly  and  indisputably  inten- 
tional,— and  not  only  so,  but  one  of  the  principal  subjects  of 
the  designer's  care. 


APPENDIX  II. 


REYNOLDS'  DISAPPOINTMENT. 

IT  is  very  fortunate  that  in  the  fragment  of  Mason's 
MSS.,  published  lately  by  Mr.  Cotton  in  his  '  Sir 
Joshua  Reynolds'  Notes,'  *  record  is  preserved  of 
Sir  Joshua's  feelings  respecting  the  paintings  in 
the  window  of  New  College,  which  might  other- 
wise have  been  supposed  to  give  his  full  sanction 
to  this  mode  of  painting  on  glass.  Nothing  can 
possibly  be  more  curious,  to  my  mind,  than  the 
great  painter's  expectations ;  or  his  having  at  all 
entertained  the  idea  that  the  qualities  of  colour 
which  are  peculiar  to  opaque  bodies  could  be 
obtained  in  a  transparent  medium ;  but  so  it  is  : 
and  with  the  simplicity  and  humbleness  of  an 
entirely  great  man,  he  hopes  that  Mr.  Jervas  on 
glass  is  to  excel  Sir  Joshua  on  canvas.  Happily, 
Mason  tells  us  the  result. 

"With  the  copy  Jervas  made  of  this  picture  he 
was  grievously  disappointed.     '  I  had  frequently,7 

*  Smith,  Soho  Square,  1859. 

257  R 


25  8  APPENDICES. 

he  said  to  me,  '  pleased  myself  by  reflecting,  after 
I  had  produced  what  I  thought  a  brilliant  effect  of 
light  and  shadow  on  my  canvas,  how  greatly  that 
effect  would  be  heightened  by  the  transparency 
which  the  painting  on  glass  would  be  sure  to  pro- 
duce. It  turned  out  quite  the  reverse.' " 


APPENDIX  III. 


CLASSICAL  ARCHITECTURE. 

THIS  passage  in  the  lecture  was  illustrated  by  a 
woodcut  copied  from  the  49th  plate  of  the  third 
edition  of  the  { Encyclopaedia  Britannica '  (Edin- 
burgh, 1797),  and  representing  an  English  farm- 
house arranged  on  classical  principles.  If  the 
reader  cares  to  consult  the  work  itself,  he  will  find 
in  the  same  plate  another  composition  of  similar 
propriety,  and  dignified  by  the  addition  of  a 
pediment,  beneath  the  shadow  of  which  "a  pri- 
vate gentleman  who  has  a  small  family  may  find 
conveniency." 


APPENDIX  IV. 


SUBTLETY  OF  HAND. 

I  HAD  intended,  in  one  or  other  of  these  lectures, 
to  have  spoken  at  some  length  of  the  quality  of 
refinement  in  Colour,  but  found  the  subject  would 
lead  me  too  far.  A  few  words  are,  however, 
necessary  in  order  to  explain  some  expressions 
in  the  text. 

"  Refinement  in  colour  "  is  indeed  a  tautological 
expression,  for  colour,  in  the  true  sense  of  the 
word,  does  not  exist  until  it  is  refined.  Dirt 
exists, — stains  exist, — and  pigments  exist  easily 
enough  in  all  places  ;  and  are  laid  on  easily  enough 
by  all  hands ;  but  colour  exists  only  where  there 
is  tenderness,  and  can  be  laid  on  only  by  a  hand 
which  has  strong  life  in  it.  The  law  concerning 
colour  is  very  strange,  very  noble,  in  some  sense 
almost  awful.  In  every  given  touch  laid  on  canvas, 
if  one  grain  of  the  colour  is  inoperative,  and  does 
not  take  its  full  part  in  producing  the  hue,  the  hue 

will  be  imperfect.    The  grain  of  colour  which  does 
259 


26O  APPENDICES. 

not  work  is  dead.  It  infects  all  about  it  with  its 
death.  It  must  be  got  quit  of,  or  the  touch  is 
spoiled.  We  acknowledge  this  instinctively  in  our 
use  of  the  phrases  "dead  colour,"  "killed  colour," 
"foul  colour."  Those  words  are,  in  some  sort, 
literally  true.  If  more  colour  is  put  on  than  is 
necessary,  a  heavy  touch  when  a  light  one  would 
have  been  enough,  the  quantity  of  colour  that  was 
not  wanted,  and  is  overlaid  by  the  rest,  is  as  dead, 
and  it  pollutes  the  rest.  There  will  be  no  good  in 
the  touch. 

The  art  of  painting,  properly  so  called,  consists 
in  laying  on  the  least  possible  colour  that  will 
produce  the  required  result;  and  this  measure- 
ment, in  all  the  ultimate — that  is  to  say,  the 
principal — operations  of  colouring,  is  so  delicate 
that  not  one  human  hand  in  a  million  has  the 
required  lightness.  The  final  touch  of  any  painter 
properly  so  named — of  Correggio,  Titian,  Turner, 
or  Reynolds — would  be  always  quite  invisible  to 
any  one  watching  the  progress  of  the  work,  the 
films  of  hue  being  laid  thinner  than  the  depths 
of  the  grooves  in  mother-of-pearl.  The  work  may 
be  swift,  apparently  careless,  nay,  to  the  painter 
himself  almost  unconscious.  Great  painters  are 
so  organized  that  they  do  their  best  work  without 
effort;  but  analyze  the  touches  afterwards,  and 
you  will  find  the  structure  and  depth  of  the  colour 
laid  mathematically  demonstrable  to  be  of  literally 
infinite  fineness,  the  last  touches  passing  away  at 


APPENDIX    IV.  26l 

their  edges  by  untraceable  gradation.  The  very 
essence  of  a  master's  work  may  thus  be  removed 
by  a  picture-cleaner  in  ten  minutes. 

Observe,  however,  this  thinness  exists  only  in 
portions  of  the  ultimate  touches,  for  which  the 
preparation  may  often  have  been  made  with  solid 
colours,  commonly,  and  literally,  called  "dead 
colouring ; "  but  even  that  is  always  subtle  if  a 
master  lays  it — subtle  at  least  in  drawing,  if  simple 
in  hue ;  and  farther,  observe  that  the  refinement 
of  work  consists  not  in  laying  absolutely  little 
colour,  but  in  always  laying  precisely  the  right 
quantity.  To  lay  on  little  needs  indeed  the  rare 
lightness  of  hand;  but  to  lay  much, — yet  not  one 
atom  too  much,  and  obtain  subtlety,  not  by  with- 
holding strength,  but  by  precision  of  pause, — that 
is  the  master's  final  sign-manual — power,  know- 
ledge, and  tenderness  all  united.  A  great  deal  of 
colour  may  often  be  wanted — perhaps  quite  a  mass 
of  it,  such  as  shall  project  from  the  canvas ;  but 
the  real  painter  lays  this  mass  of  its  required 
thickness  and  shape  with  as  much  precision  as  if  it 
were  a  bud  of  a  flower  which  he  had  to  touch  into 
blossom  ;  one  of  Turner's  loaded  fragments  of  white 
cloud  is  modelled  and  gradated  in  an  instant,  as 
if  it  alone  were  the  subject  of  the  picture,  when 
the  same  quantity  of  colour,  under  another  hand, 
would  be  a  lifeless  lump. 

The  following  extract  from  a  letter  in  the 
'Literary  Gazette'  of  131)1  November,  1858,  which 


262  APPENDICES. 

I  was  obliged  to  write  to  defend  a  questioned  ex- 
pression respecting  Turner's  subtlety  of  hand  from 
a  charge  of  hyperbole,  contains  some  interesting 
and  conclusive  evidence  on  the  point,  though  it 
refers  to  pencil  and  chalk  drawing  only  : — 

"  I  must  ask  you  to  allow  me  yet  leave  to  reply 
to  the  objections  you  make  to  two  statements  in 
my  catalogue,  as  those  objections  would  otherwise 
diminish  its  usefulness.  I  have  asserted  that,  in  a 
given  drawing  (named  as  one  of  the  chief  in  the 
series),  Turner's  pencil  did  not  move  over  the 
thousandth  of  an  inch  without  meaning ;  and  you 
charge  this  expression  with  extravagant  hyperbole. 
On  the  contrary,  it  is  much  within  the  truth,  being 
merely  a  mathematically  accurate  description  of 
fairly  good  execution  in  either  drawing  or  engrav- 
ing. It  is  only  necessary  to  measure  a  piece  of 
any  ordinarily  good  work  to  ascertain  this.  Take, 
for  instance,  Finden's  engraving  at  the  iSoth  page 
of  Rogers'  poems  ;  in  which  the  face  of  the  figure, 
from  the  chin  to  the  top  of  the  brow,  occupies 
just  a  quarter  of  an  inch,  and  the  space  between 
the  upper  lip  and  chin  as  nearly  as  possible  one- 
seventeenth  of  an  inch.  The  whole  mouth  occu- 
pies one-third  of  this  space — say  one-fiftieth  of  an 
inch ;  and  within  that  space  both  the  lips  and  the 
much  more  difficult  inner  corner  of  the  mouth  are 
perfectly  drawn  and  rounded,  with  quite  success- 
ful and  sufficiently  subtle  expression.  Any  artist 
will  assure  you  that  in  order  to  draw  a  mouth 


APPENDIX    IV.  263 

as  well  as  this,  there  must  be  more  than  twenty 
gradations  of  shade  in  the  touches ;  that  is  to  say, 
in  this  case,  gradations  changing,  with  meaning, 
within  less  than  the  thousandth  of  an  inch. 

"  But  this  is  mere  child's  play  compared  to  the 
refinement  of  any  first-rate  mechanical  work — much 
more  of  brush  or  pencil  drawing  by  a  master's  hand. 
In  order  at  once  to  furnish  you  with  authoritative 
evidence  on  this  point,  I  wrote  to  Mr.  Kingsley, 
tutor  of  Sidney-Sussex  College,  a  friend  to  whom  I 
always  have  recourse  when  I  want  to  be  precisely 
right  in  any  matter ;  for  his  great  knowledge  both 
of  mathematics  and  of  natural  science  is  joined, 
not  only  with  singular  powers  of  delicate  experi- 
mental manipulation,  but  with  a  keen  sensitiveness 
to  beauty  in  art.  His  answer,  in  its  final  statement 
respecting  Turner's  work,  is  amazing  even  to  me, 
and  will,  I  should  think,  be  more  so  to  your  readers. 
Observe  the  successions  of  measured  and  tested 
refinement :  here  is  No.  i  : — 

" '  The  finest  mechanical  work  that  I  know, 
which  is  not  optical,  is  that  done  by  Nobert  in  the 
way  of  ruling  lines.  I  have  a  series  ruled  by  him 
on  glass,  giving  actual  scales  from  .000024  and 
.000016  of  an  inch,  perfectly  correct  to  these 
places  of  decimals;  and  he  has  executed  others 
as  fine  as  .000012,  though  I  do  not  know  how  far 
he  could  repeat  these  last  with  accuracy.' 

"This  is  No.  i,  of  precision.  Mr.  Kingsley 
proceeds  to  No.  2  : — 


264  APPENDICES. 

" '  But  this  is  rude  work  compared  to  the 
accuracy  necessary  for  the  construction  of  the 
object-glass  of  a  microscope  such  as  Rosse  turns 
out.' 

"I  am  sorry  to  omit  the  explanation  which 
follows  of  the  ten  lenses  composing  such  a  glass, 
'each  of  which  must  be  exact  in  radius  and  in 
surface,  and  all  have  their  axes  coincident : '  but  it 
would  not  be  intelligible  without  the  figure  by 
which  it  is  illustrated  j  so  I  pass  to  Mr.  Kingsley's 
No.  3  :- 

"'I  am  tolerably  familiar,'  he  proceeds,  'with 
the  actual  grinding  and  polishing  of  lenses  and 
specula,  and  have  produced  by  my  own  hand 
some  by  no  means  bad  optical  work,  and  I  have 
copied  no  small  amount  of  Turner's  work,  and 
I  still  look  with  awe  at  the  combined  delicacy  and 
precision  of  his  hand ;  IT  BEATS  OPTICAL  WORKOUT 
OF  SIGHT.  In  optical  work,  as  in  refined  drawing, 
the  hand  goes  beyond  the  eye,  and  one  has  to 
depend  upon  the  feel ;  and  when  one  has  once 
learned  what  a  delicate  affair  touch  is,  one  gets 
a  horror  of  all  coarse  work,  and  is  ready  to  forgive 
any  amount  of  feebleness,  sooner  than  that  bold- 
ness which  is  akin  to  impudence.  In  optics  the 
distinction  is  easily  seen  when  the  work  is  put  to. 
trial ;  but  here  too,  as  in  drawing,  it  requires  an 
.educated  eye  to  tell  the  difference  when  the  work 
js  only  moderately  bad ;  but  with  "  bold  "  work, 
nothing  can  be  seen  but  distortion  and  fog ;  and 


APPENDIX    IV.  265 

I  heartily  wish  the  same  result  would  follow  the 
same  kind  of  handling  in  drawing ;  but  here,  the 
boldness  cheats  the  unlearned  by  looking  like  the 
precision  of  the  true  man.  It  is  very  strange  how 
much  better  our  ears  are  than  our  eyes  in  this 
country :  if  an  ignorant  man  were  to  be  "  bold " 
with  a  violin,  he  would  not  get  many  admirers, 
though  his  boldness  was  far  below  that  of  ninety- 
nine  out  of  a  hundred  drawings  one  sees.' 

"The  words  which  I  have  put  in  italics  in  the 
above  extract  are  those  which  were  surprising  to 
me.  I  knew  that  Turner's  was  as  refined  as  any 
optical  work,  but  had  no  idea  of  its  going  beyond 
it.  Mr.  Kingsley's  word  'awe'  occurring  just 
before,  is,  however,  as  I  have  often  felt,  precisely 
the  right  one.  When  once  we  begin  at  all  to  under- 
stand the  handling  of  any  truly  great  executor, 
such  as  that  of  any  of  the  three  great  Venetians, 
of  Correggio,  or  Turner,  the  awe  of  it  is  some- 
thing greater  than  can  be  felt  from  the  most  stu- 
pendous natural  scenery.  For  the  creation  of  such 
a  system  as  a  high  human  intelligence,  endowed 
with  its  ineffably  perfect  instruments  of  eye  and 
hand,  is  a  far  more  appalling  manifestation  of 
Infinite  Power  than  the  making  either  of  seas  or 
mountains. 

"After  this  testimony  to  the  completion  of 
Turner's  work,  I  need  not  at  length  defend  myself 
from  the  charge  of  hyperbole  in  the  statement  that, 
*  as  far  as  I  know,  the  galleries  of  Europe  may  be 


266  APPENDICES. 

challenged  to  produce  one  sketch  *  that  shall  equal 
the  chalk  study  of  No.  45,  or  the  feeblest  of  the 
memoranda  in  the  yist  and  following  frames;' 
which  memoranda,  however,  it  should  have  been 
observed,  are  stated  at  the  44th  page  to  be  in 
some  respects  '  the  grandest  work  in  grey  that  he 
did  in  his  life.'  For  I  believe  that,  as  manipulators, 
none  but  the  four  men  whom  I  have  just  named 
(the  three  Venetians  and  Correggio)  were  equal 
to  Turner ;  and,  as  far  as  I  know,  none  of  those 
four  ever  put  their  full  strength  into  sketches.  But 
whether  they  did  or  not,  my  statement  in  the 
catalogue  is  limited  by  my  own  knowledge :  and, 
as  far  as  I  can  trust  that  knowledge,  it  is  not  an 
enthusiastic  statement,  but  an  entirely  calm  and 
considered  one.  It  may  be  a  mistake,  but  it  is 
not  a  hyperbole." 

*  A  sketch,  observe, — not  a  finished  drawing.  Sketches 
are  only  proper  subjects  of  comparison  with  each  other 
when  they  contain  about  the  same  quantity  of  work  :  the 
test  of  their  merit  is  the  quantity  of  truth  told  with  a  given 
number  of  touches.  The  assertion  in  the  Catalogue  which 
this  letter  was  written  to  defend,  was  made  respecting  the 
sketch  of  Rome,  No.  101. 


APPENDIX  V. 


IT  was  noted  in  the  text  that  the  whole  of  this 
ironwork  representing  flowers  had  been  coloured. 
The  difficulty  of  colouring  ironwork  rightly,  and 
the  necessity  of  doing  it  in  some  way  or  other, 
have  been  the  principal  reasons  for  my  never 
having  entered  heartily  into  this  subject;  for  all 
the  ironwork  I  have  ever  seen  look  beautiful  was 
rusty,  and  rusty  iron  will  not  answer  modern 
purposes.  Nevertheless  it  may  be  painted ;  but  it 
needs  some  one  to  do  it  who  knows  what  painting 
means,  and  few  of  us  do — certainly  none,  as  yet,  of 
our  restorers  of  decoration  or  writers  on  colour. 

It  is  a  marvellous  thing  to  me  that  book  after 
book  should  appear  on  this  last  subject,  without 
apparently  the  slightest  consciousness  on  the  part 
of  the  writers  that  the  first  necessity  of  beauty  in 
colour  is  gradation,  as  the  first  necessity  of  beauty 
in  line  is  curvature, — or  that  the  second  necessity 
in  colour  is  mystery  or  subtlety,  as  the  second 
necessity  in  line  is  softness.  Colour  ungradated 

is  wholly  valueless ;  colour  unmysterious  is  wholly 

267 


268  APPENDICES. 

barbarous.  Unless  it  loses  itself,  and  melts  away 
towards  other  colours,  as  a  true  line  loses  itself 
and  melts  away  towards  other  lines,  colour  has  no 
proper  existence,  in  the  noble  sense  of  the  word. 
What  a  cube,  or  tetrahedron,  is  to  organic  form, 
ungradated  and  unconfused  colour  is  to  organic 
colour;  and  a  person  who  attempts  to  arrange 
colour  harmonies  without  gradation  of  tint  is  in 
precisely  the  same  category  as  an  artist  who  should 
try  to  compose  a  beautiful  picture  out  of  an  accu- 
mulation of  cubes  and  parallelepipeds. 

The  value  of  hue  in  all  illuminations  on  painted 
glass  of  fine  periods  depends  primarily  on  the 
expedients  used  to  make  the  colours  palpitate  and 
fluctuate ;  inequality  of  brilliancy  being  the  condi- 
tion of  brilliancy,  just  as  inequality  of  accent  is  the 
condition  of  power  and  loveliness  in  sound.  The 
skill  with  which  the  thirteenth  century  illuminators 
in  books,  and  the  Indians  in  shawls  and  carpets, 
use  the  minutest  atoms  of  colour  to  gradate  other 
colours,  and  confuse  the  eye,  is  the  first  secret  in 
their  gift  of  splendour:  associated,  however,  with 
so  many  other  artifices  which  are  quite  instinctive 
and  unteachable,  that  it  is  of  little  use  to  dwell 
upon  them.  Delicacy  of  organization  in  the  de- 
signer given,  you  will  soon  have  all,  and  without 
it,  nothing.  However,  not  to  close  my  book  with 
desponding  words,  let  me  set  down,  as  many  of  us 
like  such  things,  five  Laws  to  which  there  is  no 
exception  whatever,  and  which,  if  they  can  enable 


APPENDIX    V.  269 

no  one  to  produce  good  colour,  are  at  least,  as 
far  as  they  reach,  accurately  condemnatory  of  bad 
colour. 

1.  ALL  GOOD  COLOUR  is  GRADATED.     A  blush 
rose  (or,  better  still,  a  blush  itself,)  is  the  type  of 
Tightness  in  arrangement  of  pure  hue. 

2.  ALL     HARMONIES     OF    COLOUR     DEPEND    FOR 
THEIR    VITALITY     ON     THE    ACTION    AND    HELPFUL 
OPERATION  OF   EVERY   PARTICLE   OF    COLOUR    THEY 
CONTAIN. 

3.  THE  FINAL  PARTICLES  OF  COLOUR  NECESSARY 
TO  THE  COMPLETENESS  OF  A  COLOUR  HARMONY  ARE 

ALWAYS  INFINITELY  SMALL  ;  either  laid  by  immea- 
surably subtle  touches  of  the  pencil,  or  produced 
by  portions  of  the  colouring  substance,  however 
distributed,  which  are  so  absolutely  small  as  to 
become  at  the  intended  distance  infinitely  so  to 
the  eye. 

4.  NO    COLOUR     HARMONY    IS    OF     HIGH    ORDER 
UNLESS  IT   INVOLVES  INDESCRIBABLE  TINTS.       It   IS 

the  best  possible  sign  of  a  colour  when  nobody  who 
sees  it  knows  what  to  call  it,  or  how  to  give  an 
idea  of  it  to  any  one  else.  Even  among  simple 
hues  the  most  valuable  are  those  which  cannot  be 
defined ;  the  most  precious  purples  will  look  brown 
beside  pure'  purple,  and  purple  beside  pure  brown  ; 
and  the  most  precious  greens  will  be  called  blue  if 
seen  beside  pure  green,  and  green  if  seen  beside 
pure  blue. 

5.  THE  FINER  THE  EYE  FOR  COLOUR,  THE   LESS 


"HF 

•UNIVERS! 

- 


27O  APPENDICES. 

IT  WILL   REQUIRE   TO  GRATIFY  IT  INTENSELY.       But 

that  little  must  be  supremely  good  and  pure,  as 
the  finest  notes  of  a  great  singer,  which  are  so  near 
to  silence.  And  a.  great  colourist  will  make  even 
the  absence  of  colour  lovely,  as  the  fading  of  the 
perfect  voice  makes  silence  sacred. 

Note  to  second  edition. — The  portions  of  this  article  re- 
ferring to  general  subjects  are  preserved.  The  scratches 
given  in  example  are  of  no  importance. 


THE  END. 


14  DAY  USE 

RETURN  TO  DESK  FROM  WHICH  BORROWED 

LOAN  DEPT. 

RENEWALS  ONLY—TEL.  NO.  642-3405 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below,  or 

on  the  date  to  which  renewed. 
Renewed  books  are  subject  to  immediate  recall. 


iSEP   21981 


RSJ.  CIR.    JUN  2  7 


MAR  06  1998 


"Vfc/  \  U.  C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


cossitssm 


